The Wizarding Games
by Gamemaker97
Summary: The Capitol scientists have discovered time travel, and President Snow has managed to contact Professor Dumbledore, offering him information from the future on how to defeat Voldemort. For a price, of course. What does he want as payment? Only twenty-four of Hogwarts' finest, ready to battle it out in the arena.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first attempt at a Hunger Games / Harry Potter crossover, so hopefully it won't be too terrible...**

 **I've never attempted any HP writing before, so hopefully that won't be too hit-and-miss, but I reckon I've spent enough time working on THG fanfics to have a reasonable knack of getting that part of this story right, at least!**

 **I'm sure this type of story has been attempted many times before, so I'm going to try and keep it as interesting as I can, and hopefully throw in a few twists along the way!**

 **Concerning the story itself, I think the only information you need to know before this chapter is that it is set in late April 1997, which in Harry Potter time puts it close to the end of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ , shortly after Harry acquires Professor Slughorn's memory and works out that Voldemort has six horcruxes, with the help of Professor Dumbledore. Prior to this chapter, everything is in canon with the original Harry Potter novels.**

 **Other than that, I'm sure everything will be fairly self-explanatory, and I hope that you enjoy the chapter! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

The evenings were getting longer. It had felt like a long winter, but Harry was finally starting to notice the sun pouring into the common room later and later in the evenings, so much so on this particular April evening that nobody had even bothered to put the lights on.

It had been a boring Saturday, as Saturdays went. Hours had been slipping by without anything being accomplished, and Harry had spent most of the day moping around the Gryffindor common room, knowing that he couldn't really commit to doing anything while he was still waiting on Professor Dumbledore.

It had been decided at short notice for the teachers to hold one-on-one mentoring sessions for the sixth-years that weekend. Harry was used to these sessions by now; ten minutes stuck in a room with Professor McGonagall, telling him all the usual comments about how he was on course for good grades in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and that he needed to put more work in for Potions class, if he really did want to become an Auror.

Of course, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince, she couldn't reprimand him about his Potions grade anymore. Apart from one slip-up in November, he'd achieved Outstanding grades all year.

However, rather than the Heads of House conducting these mentoring sessions, today all the sixth-years had to go and see Professor Dumbledore.

So there he was, sitting alone in an armchair by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, absent-mindedly flicking through the Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook because there was nothing better to do while he was waiting. Ron and Hermione had gone to see Dumbledore hours ago, but neither of them had returned to Gryffindor tower. Hermione was probably in the library and Ron... Well, Ron could be anywhere. Half an hour before he'd been tempted to search for them, but he knew that he was stuck in this limbo of waiting to be called for by Professor Dumbledore.

It had really infuriated him; a quiet Saturday late in the school year would be an excellent time to go and make another attempt and forcing the Room of Requirement to reveal whatever Draco Malfoy had been up to, spending hours upon hours hidden away for the past few weeks. Several times Harry had attempted to intercept Draco leaving the room, but he had never managed it.

 _Thinking of Draco Malfoy..._

It was a pleasant evening, and so the common room was almost empty. There were only a half-dozen other students present; a group of third-years talking animatedly around a table on the far side of the room. Trusting the room to be empty enough, Harry pulled the Marauder's Map from his back pocket and opened it up, hiding it from view behind the cover of the Potions textbook. He hurriedly scanned the map for any presence of Draco Malfoy, but once again, he was off the map.

 _Great,_ Harry thought bitterly. _Another opportunity wasted._

" _Harry!_ "

Startled, Harry looked up to see Katie Bell, a seventh-year girl who played Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, staring down at him. Frantically, Harry placed his wand on the Marauder's Map, muttered a quick _mischief managed_ , folded up the map within the Half-Blood Prince's textbook and gave the older girl his full attention.

"Did you even hear a word of what I just said?" Katie reprimanded him, hands on her hips.

"Er, I - no, I'm sorry, I completely zoned out," Harry apologised hurriedly.

"I could tell," Katie muttered as Harry got to his feet. "Anyway, Professor McGonagall told me to let you know Professor Dumbledore's ready to see you now."

"Right, thanks," Harry said, putting his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ into his bag, and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'd better not keep him waiting," he added as he walked to the door, excusing himself from the conversation.

"Of course," Katie replied as Harry walked away from her across the common room before calling after him. "Harry! Remember we need to book some extra time on the Quidditch pitch on the next couple of weeks. To make sure I can get back up to speed with things again before the Ravenclaw game. It'll be my last one, remember?"

Harry gave Katie a small smile. It had been five an a half years since they had both played their first games for Gryffindor together, in a narrow win against Slytherin that still felt like just a couple of weeks ago to Harry.

"Definitely. I'll talk more about it later," he said, and then he was out the door.

* * *

"Come in."

It had only taken Harry five minutes to reach Professor Dumbledore's office; he knew the route through the castle well. There had been a time when Harry had been fascinated by all the mysterious objects and devices occupying the shelves and cupboards around the Headmaster's office, and been intrigued by the paintings of all the previous Hogwarts Headmasters that lined the walls, but that time was long past, and Harry barely even glanced around the room as he entered.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Harry said with a smile, introducing himself.

"Ah, Harry! I was beginning to think that we would be running out of time tonight. I'm afraid we are most terribly behind schedule. I hope I have not robbed you of an evening."

"Oh, not at all, professor," Harry lied, as he knew that none of this was Professor Dumbledore's fault.

"Very well," Dumbledore replied, and Harry started to notice that Dumbledore kept glancing around at the portraits on the walls; oddly, it seemed that all of them were present, for once. "Please, Harry, take a seat."

Harry sat down opposite Dumbledore at the desk in the centre of the room, which was covered in a great many papers and objects. No doubt Dumbledore had been busy all day.

"Many of the students I have seen today are not nearly as well known to me as you are, Harry, and so we shall keep this brief," Professor Dumbledore began, and Harry relaxed a little. Part of him had been worried he would be lectured for falling behind somewhere, or for getting into too much trouble with one of his teachers. He'd still never really mastered the art of sticking to the rules.

Professor Dumbledore pulled a sheet of paper out of the stack beside him and set it down on the between himself and Harry. On it, Harry could read his own marks for his classes this year.

"Let me see, Harry... Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions and Transfiguration... There is nothing here that gives me any cause for concern - indeed, you seem to be excelling this year! Keep working as you do, and I'll expect to see at least two or three Outstanding grades when you take your N.E.W.T. examinations next year," Dumbledore said with a smile.

"Thank-you, professor," Harry said, positively cheered up now, despite wasting the day, because of how much faith Professor Dumbledore had in him.

"I would ask for you to try and keep yourself disciplined, but I fear that if you have learnt little in almost six years, there is little point in me continuing to lecture you about your misdemeanours now."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, and so was relieved when Professor Dumbledore stood up and said, "I'm sure that just about covers everything. I see little that I need to talk to you about your schoolwork, and we have so much time to discuss other matters that you are free to leave, if you please."

"Of course, professor," Harry replied. "I've got a busy few days ahead - actually, I need to go and speak to Professor McGonagall about booking more practice sessions for Quidditch..."

 _Never mind hunting down Draco Malfoy._

"I see. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that once again the Gryffindor Quidditch team is at full strength."

"Thank-you, professor," Harry replied, turning to leave.

"Oh, Harry, I almost forgot!" Professor Dumbledore called after him, just as hand reached the door handle. The Professor had stood up and had pulled a book out from a compartment in his desk.

"What is it, professor?" Harry asked.

"You may recall that, when we perused the memories of Professor Slughorn last week, Tom Riddle said that he had come across Horcruxes from reading about them in our school library." Dumbledore gave Harry a small, sad smile. "Of course, I had all books on Horcruxes removed from the library the moment I became Headmaster, but I didn't get rid of them." Dumbledore put the small book down on the desk. "This is the book that Tom Riddle read to first come across Horcruxes, all those years ago. I believe it might be useful for you to read through it, in case you feel you need any more explanation of what we are up against."

"Of course, I'll take it," Harry said, walking back into the room towards the desk, and Dumbledore stepped aside to let Harry get to the desk, glancing up once again at the portraits around the room.

Harry knew that there was something wrong the moment that his hand first touched the battered leather covering of the book, and felt the tell-tale tug behind his navel. Instantly memories of mazes and graveyards pushed to the front of his mind, but he quelled them for long enough to hear Dumbledore mutter quietly.

"I'm sorry."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he was already gone.

* * *

Harry came to on his back with a thud, the book flying from his hands, its job done. From the sound it made as it landed beside him, he was in a large enclosed space; a cave, perhaps.

 _Where am I?_

Opening his eyes and sitting up, Harry took a look around. He was in a large, empty room, the size of a sports hall, although the painted concrete floor, white walls and the harsh artificial light coming from the ceiling suggested that the room normally had a different purpose. Around him, two dozen or so Hogwarts students sat around him in groups, talking in hushed whispers. It took him a moment to realise that they were all in his year.

"Harry!"

Harry turned around to find Ron beaming down at him, and relief flooded through him before panic took over as Hermione almost bowled him over, trapping him in a fierce hug.

"Easy, Hermione!" Harry said with a weak laugh as she drew away from him. Looking around, he noticed Neville Longbottom standing beside Ron, too. "What's going on here?"

"No idea, mate," Ron shrugged. "I've only been here - well, I don't really know how long it's been - but I wasn't the first. When I went to see Dumbledore this afternoon, he said he had something for me to help me practice for the Ravenclaw game. He gave me this little box, you see, but when I touched it, it was a portkey! Took me straight here, wherever here is," Ron said, looking around with disdain.

"So he's tricked all of us?"

"It certainly looks that way," Ron said bitterly.

"I didn't arrive long after Neville," Hermione added. "And there really weren't many of us here then. Every ten minutes or so, somebody else has turned up. I've been wondering how long it was going to be before you got here."

"Yeah, and you were getting bloody nervous about what was taking him so long," Ron quipped, and Hermione glared at him.

"So where actually are we?" Harry asked, only to be greeted with silence from his fellow Gryffindors. "Maybe a better question would be to ask why we're still in here, and not working out where we are?"

"There doesn't seem to be a way out," Hermione replied. "There are no doors, no obvious routes out. I've cast a few spells to see what other magic is at work here, but there's nothing. Except for us, of course."

"Great," Harry said. "So I presume, if we've all just been thrown in this room together, there must be some sort of plan, right?" Seeing Ron shake his head, Harry started feeling frustrated. He wished he'd been here sooner, if only to make sure someone had control of the situation.

"Who got here first, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy," Ron spat, looking over at the Slytherin, who was leaning against the wall twenty metres from Harry, looking thoroughly bored by the situation.

"Well, that explains why he hasn't been on the Marauder's Map today," Harry said quietly, almost to himself, but Hermione heard him.

"Harry, why are you still suspecting him? There's no evidence that Malfoy has done anything wrong all year. You've just got this hunch because we saw him at Borgin and Burkes' last year."

"And the Unbreakable Vow Snape made," Harry added.

"Yeah, that too. But what can Snape do now? He's not here, is he?"

Harry paused for a moment, thinking. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," he finally admitted. "It's not like it makes a difference where Malfoy's a Death Eater or not, wherever we are now."

Frowning, Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, there was an electronic humming noise, and a section of the wall slid open, allowing two men to walk through into the room. They were both dressed in black suits, but that was where the similarities ended. One of the men was short and thin, with thinning white hair and cold, narrow eyes. A white rose was tucked in the lapel of his suit. On his left stood a man a generation his younger, with short black hair and an equally hostile expression on his face. He carried a black notebook tucked under his left arm.

"Good evening, students," the smaller man said with an accent that was distinctly American, and he instantly had the attention everyone in the room. Even Malfoy had stopped brooding and had stood up to face the visitors.

"My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm sure you have many questions to ask me. So I suppose I'll do the sensible thing and let you ask away." This turned out to be a bad decision, as ten students stood up at once, calling out at the old man. Snow raised a hand to the group, and everyone fell silent again.

"Maybe we should try taking things a little slower, and ask things _one person at a time_."

"Please, sir!" Hermione said eagerly, her hand shooting in the air as though she was in Charms class. "Would you mind telling us exactly where we are?"

A small smile crept onto Snow's face, but Harry couldn't work out what it meant.

"If I were to describe to you where you are, I doubt you would be able to comprehend it," Snow replied. "But historians have informed me that, in your time, this city would be known as Denver, in a state called Colorado. These days, we simply call it the Capitol."

"In _our time?_ " Harry heard a voice ask from somewhere on his right; the voice of Justin Finch-Fletchley. "You mean to say that we've actually been transported _into our future_?"

"Not to beat around the bush, I would say that accurately sums up your situation," Snow nodded, and paused as the realisation of that sunk in around the room.

 _We've actually gone into the future?_

The younger man nudged Snow on the shoulder. "Sir, if I may suggest so, a history lesson could come in handy for the students."

"Quite wise, Seneca," Snow agreed, before turning back to the students. "But I suppose that first of all, they should know why they are here today."

Everyone in the room gave just a little more of their attention to Snow.

"It may surprise you to know that, until just a few weeks ago, I didn't know that magic existed. Nobody here did, apart from a very small group of, er, what term do you like to be called by?"

"Witches and wizards," Seneca whispered in his ear.

"Ah, yes. Well, we didn't know magic existed until we caught a couple of wizards a month ago. They claimed that they were last of their kind, a dying race, if you like. They said that their magical community had been slowly dying out ever since the time of some ruthless dictator seized control - what was his name again?"

Seneca paused for a moment, flicking through his black notebook. "Voldemort, I believe," he said after a moment's silence. There was a collective gasp around the room.

"At least we've got the right group of magical students, sir," Seneca added. "Apparently wizards were scared of saying his name in their day."

Snow nodded, then continued. "Anyway, things started to go downhill for your lot after he got control, so we figured we'd do something to help you out."

Seneca stepped forward slightly, and continued the tale. "I'm no expert in magic, but I've tried to learn what I can, and I think I have a rough understanding. Lots of information about Voldemort-" he ignored the intake of breath around the room "- was revealed after he finally fell from power, including the fact that he had kept parts of his soul locked away within several objects, devices known as-"

"Horcruxes!" Harry was on his feet in an instant. "You know what the Horcruxes are?"

Seneca gave a slight nod, and Harry felt elation surge within him. "If our sources are accurate, the six Horcruxes created by Voldemort were his old school diary, a cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, a locket and a ring that had been Salazar Sltherin's, the lost diadem of Ravenclaw, and his pet snake."

"Nagini is a horcrux?" Harry cried out, shocked, and the eyes of his fellow students were all locked on him. He looked down, embarrassed for his outburst.

"The snake _was_ a horcrux," Seneca replied. "Past tense. Using our superior technology fused with the magic of the wizards we caught, we managed to come into contact with a wizard leading the resistance against Voldemort, a man called Albus Dumbledore, and offered him our information. For a price, of course."

"And what was that price?" Ron asked.

Snow smiled slowly. "All of you."

"I'm sorry, but _what?_ " Hermione said, panic creeping into her voice. "All of us? What do you want with us?"

"Oh, it's nothing personal," Snow replied casually. "Here in the Capitol, we hold a special event every summer, known as the Hunger Games. In essence, it is a competition; twenty-four boys and girls from our country are sent to an isolated arena away from the rest of our nation. The last person alive is the winner. All we asked was that, in exchange for providing this Mr Dumbledore with the information he so badly needed, that he provide us with the children for this year's Hunger Games."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then only the cold, dry laugh of Draco Malfoy.

And then the room exploded in anger.

 _It really was too good to be true_ , Harry thought, cursing under his breath. And to think, I almost trusted him...

"How can you do this to us!" Hermione screamed indignantly above the raucous voices of her classmates. "It's just barbaric!"

Snow shrugged. "It's life, girl. Sometimes we just have to play the hand we are given. Good luck, all of you. And may the odds be ever in your favour."

And with that, Coriolanus Snow turned on his heels and strode from the room.

* * *

 **A/N: Obviously there has to be some sort of completely implausible way of connecting the Harry Potter and Hunger Games worlds, but aside from that, hopefully this chapter was OK!**

 **Whatever you thought of it, I would appreciate any (and all) feedback via review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Concerning this chapter, the Hunger Games part of the story is set between the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, and following Katniss and Peeta's victory in the 74th Games, no rebellion was incited and everything has just carried on as normal in the Capitol.**

 **I hope that clears a few things up :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

Harry was fuming.

It had been an hour since Coriolanus Snow had told him that he would be risking his life in the Hunger Games; this twisted, inhumane competition that he knew next to nothing of. Since then, he had been shepherded out of the room by a group of soldiers with guns and forced to surrender his wand to Snow's assistant, Seneca Crane.

He'd been told that he would be given it back, but he didn't know if he believed it.

After that, he had been forced into the back of a long black car with his fellow Gryffindors and driven through a noisy, colourful city, its streets crowded with people dressed in various garish colours. Not that he took much notice of what was going on outside his window. More than anything, he just wanted to think.

Dumbledore had knowingly given up twenty-four of his students to these strange people and their free-for-all death match, in exchange for the knowledge of how to defeat Voldemort.

As much as it killed him to admit it, Harry knew that Dumbledore had done the right thing.

Now he just had one last obstacle to overcome. He just didn't want to think about what exactly that involved.

Hands clenched in frustration as he sat in the back of the car, Harry took a look around at the other passengers. There were six Gryffindors in total, including himself. Ron was sitting beside him, his face a picture of fury, even though he had barely said a word since Coriolanus Snow told him of his fate. Hermione was ranting to anyone who was listening, and Neville was staring blankly out of the window. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had never faced Dementors, dragons or even Death Eaters, made no attempt to conceal their tears.

Conversation never picked up among the students, and soon they had arrived at their destination; a tall tower block near the centre of the city. Without being told a thing, Harry was forced out of the car and into the building, being led by a group of officials in white towards an elevator, and from there into a large, open apartment, with a long hallway, a large dining room, two sitting rooms and six bedrooms. Large windows gave picturesque views out over the Capitol, a whirlwind of colour ringed by menacing mountains. Around the apartment, there were several attendants standing patiently in the corners of rooms, who were more than happy to help him, but weren't very talkative.

After fifteen minutes exploring the apartment, Harry regrouped with the other Gryffindors in the larger of the two sitting rooms, to try and work out exactly what was going on.

"Well, clearly they just need somewhere to keep us before they have their fun," Ron moaned, sitting reclusively in the corner.

"I doubt they'd bring us to some fancy apartment if we're only going to be here for a few hours," Neville said, and Harry nodded in agreement next to him on the sofa.

"Oh, well I suppose that's OK, then," Parvati added. She was still panicking, talking with a tremor in her voice. "I mean, at list we'll have a plan put together by then, won't we?" Lavender nodded supportively. The two girls had basically been inseparable since their arrival in the Capitol.

"I can't imagine there's much of a plan to it," Ron muttered dangerously. "Other than trying to kill everyone else, that is."

"Ron, you're not helping here," Harry snapped. Deep down, he knew Ron was right. There would only be one winner in the Games. He just didn't want to think about it; not yet, not at all if he could help it.

"Well, it's the truth, and hiding from it isn't going to help anyone!" Ron cried. "Maybe the sooner you get it into your head that not all of us are going to-"

" _Boys!_ " Hermione slammed the book she had been reading down on the table in front of her. Her face was flushed, and there were tears in the corners of her brown eyes. "I'm sorry, but this really looks like it's going to be the end - for us, I mean. The chances of even one of us getting out of this alive are slim, and I'll be damned if you two are going to spend our last few days together going at each other's throats!"

That shut both of them up.

After that, the hours passed in silence as the sun fell across the clear sky, until evening arrived. Only then was the silence broken by the sound of elevator doors opening, and the thin echo of footsteps along the hallway. Then the door to the sitting room burst open, and a young woman wearing a loud orange dress strode into the room.

"Good evening, tributes, and welcome to the Capitol!" The woman spoke with a high, soft accent that sounded to Harry as though she was putting it on for fun. "How lovely it is to see you all here!" She spoke so rapidly and excitedly that the purple highlights in her curly auburn hair bounced happily on her shoulders.

For what felt like the twentieth time that day, Harry was speechless.

"Hey, Marie, how about I take over from here?" said a voice behind the woman, and she stepped aside to reveal a man in his early twenties, leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed in a shirt that looked like it was a size or two too small for him, so that the muscles on his chest and arms pushed heavily against the fabric, the top two buttons undone. His short, bronze-coloured hair looked like it had been engineered to appear slightly unruly, and as he spoke, he wore an easy smile that travelled up to his sea-green eyes in a way that reminded Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart. Hovering in the doorway behind him stood a young woman of around Harry's age, dressed in all black, with her brown hair tied up away from her face.

"Oh! I know you!" Hermione said in shock, looking up from her book at the man who had now walked into the room. "You're Finnick Odair! Are you going to be our mentor in the Games?"

"Yes, and yes," Finnick laughed, taking a seat on the sofa beside Neville. "I was told you kids know nothing about the Games. How do you know who I am?"

Hermione smiled, blushing slightly, and held up the book she was reading: _The Hunger Games: A History - 70th Anniversary Edition_.

"Ah, that'll explain it," Finnick continued. "I guess you want an edge on the competition, reading ahead to find out strategies?"

Hermione shrugged. "Partly," she admitted. "But more than anything, I was just interested."

"She's a real bookworm, that one," Ron added, sitting on the floor in front of Hermione's chair, and she hit him in the back of the head with her book.

"So," Finnick asked Hermione, pointing at the young woman in black, who gave her a half-smile. "Do you know who she is?"

Hermione shook her head. "I haven't read the whole book yet. Your name just stood out because you're the youngest ever victor." she said. "But anyway, judging by how young she looks, I'd guess her Hunger Games were after the Seventieth, where this book ends."

"Well deduced," Finnick smiled, more kindly than the arrogant smile he had first greeted Harry with. "Katniss here won the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, just last year. I believe I'm right in saying she's the same age as all of you."

"You mean, you were _actually in the Hunger Games_?" Lavender asked her.

"Yes," Katniss replied. "Why else do you think I would be a mentor?"

"So, let me get this straight," Harry said, trying to keep up with what was going on. Hermione, being her usual self, was several steps ahead of everybody else. "You two"- he began, pointing at Katniss and Finnick "- won the Hunger Games, and now you're here to give us advice on what to do?"

"There's a bit more to it than that, but you've got the gist of it," Finnick replied. "Why don't we just start at the start and try and explain everything for you? I get the impression you really don't know what you're up against."

Everyone in the room nodded.

"So, everyone apart from, er-"

"Hermione."

"Everyone apart from Hermione, what do you know about the Hunger Games?" Finnick asked.

"Only that we all have to kill each other," Parvati said timidly.

"Anything else?" Finnick asked hopefully, only to be greeted with silence.

"I guess I'd better begin at the very beginning, then. Panem - that's the country we live in - is made up of the Capitol, where we are now, and twelve districts that surround it. Around eighty years ago, the districts rebelled against the Capitol. When the dust had settled and the districts' war was lost, the Capitol punished the districts by demanding that each year, every district would offer up one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to take part in the Hunger Games. The last of the twenty-four wins. Only this year, there will be three boys and three girls from each of the four houses, and yours is - if I'm pronouncing this right - Gryffindor?"

"That's correct," Hermione said.

"Anyway, that's why the Games are what they are. Now we get to the important bit," Finnick continued. "Before the Hunger Games actually begin, there's a week's worth events, which Katniss and I are here to guide you through. Over the next few days, you will get three days of weapons training in the gymnasium in the basement of this building, where you will be observed by the Gamemakers - the people running the Games. On the third day, they will give you a score out of twelve, indicating your potential to win the Games. I'll explain more about what this means later. Two days after that, all of you will give a live, televised interview, which will be broadcast to the nation.

"The morning after that, the Hunger Games will begin. That gives you, from today, six days to prepare for the arena. It will be tough, but I feel that, with the right preparation, anyone is able to win."

"Well," Ron said after another prolonged period of silence. "That's a lot to take in." Neville nodded thoughtfully beside Harry.

"So, what's that plan, Finnick?" Hermione asked, eager not to waste the day; time was now more precious than ever.

"This evening, the opening ceremonies take place in the centre of the Capitol, but before we send you off to get prepared, we have a few minutes to get to know each other, so I'd better get all the important questions out the way. And not just the obvious ones, like what all of your names are..."

After everyone had made their proper introductions, Finnick got straight down to business.

"The first thing I need to know is whether any of you have any experience using weapons," the victor continued. "If you do, have a strength that you can work on in the next few days of training, and if not, we'll be able to help you decide what to attempt. So, have any of you used many weapons before, or have any experience in fighting? I'm sure some of you lads have got in a brawl or two at school, right?"

"I don't know about brawls, but Harry's certainly got out of a fair share of tight spots over the years," Neville said helpfully, and Harry felt his cheeks start to heat up.

"Yeah, he fought a dragon a couple of years back," Lavender added.

"And he killed a Basilisk with a sword-"

"Fought a hundred Dementors at once-"

"Duelled with _You-Know-Who himself_ when he was fourteen-"

"All right, all right, you can cut it now," Harry said. Somehow he felt like maybe here, in the Capitol, he wouldn't have to be the Boy Who Lived, or the Chosen One, or whatever the _Daily Prophet_ were calling him these days. If nothing else, the people here would be able to see him without knowing that he's the most famous teenager in the wizarding world.

"Dragons?" Katniss said. "It all sounds so odd to me... I suppose it really is a whole other world you've come from. Is it normal for boys of your age to be off slaying dragons and whatever else you've done?"

"No, it definitely isn't," Hermione replied proudly. "It's just Harry. It's a long story, but he's kind of _special_ in our world."

"If by _special_ , you mean a _celebrity_ -"

"Please, can we just move on?" Harry interjected. "All of this makes me sound like I'm some sort of _god_ , but most of it was luck! And even if it wasn't, I needed my wand through nearly all of that, and we don't even have our wands any more, now Seneca Crane has taken them."

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "Even though he said we'd get them back, I'm not sure I trust him after what he pulled on us earlier."

"Seneca Crane took them?" Finnick asked with a thoughtful expression.

"Yeah."

"Then I reckon you'll get them back when you need them," Finnick said reassuringly. "Seneca Crane is the Head Gamemaker; the man responsible for the Games running smoothly. I'm sure if he says you'll get them back, you'll get them. So, have any of the rest of you got any experience of fighting in any way."

"Ron, Hermione and Neville were with me last year when we raided the government buildings to rescue a friend," Harry said, immediately regretting it as once again he saw Sirius fall through the Veil in his mind.

Finnick raised an eyebrow at that, looking over his shoulder at Katniss.

"Looks like we've got a good batch of tributes here," Katniss said, more to Finnick than anyone else.

"You have got rather lucky, being chosen to mentor Gryffindor," Hermione said with a smile. "You our sorted into a house based on your personality, and Gryffindor House promotes bravery."

"At least you'll be up for the challenge then," Finnick said happily. "If Gryffindors want bravery, that might explain why Katniss and I are here, then. Katniss, would I be correct in recalling that last year, you spent a night in a tree with six people camped out at the bottom, trying to force you out?"

"It might've happened," Katniss smiled. "Although only five of them were actually trying to hunt me down; the sixth was Peeta."

"Ah, of course. How could I have forgot?" Finnick laughed. Turning back to the others, he asked, "What qualities are the other houses meant to have?"

"Hufflepuff are meant to be loyal, Ravenclaw promote wisdom and wit, and Slytherins are ambitious and cunning," Hermione answered.

"That'll explain it then; looking at the other victors, they've put us with the tributes we're most like," Finnick deduced. "Why else would Beetee be with Ravenclaw and Johanna with Slytherin?" Katniss shrugged at that.

"Unfortunately, that means every house is going to be doing different strategies, which will make this Hunger Games interesting, to say the least. But before we talk any more about strategy, the opening ceremonies are only a couple of hours away, and you have to get ready." Finnick turned to Marie, the excitable young woman in orange who had entered the sitting room with him and Katniss, "This is Marie, your escort. She's the one who is responsible for, well, escorting you from place to place while you're in the Capitol this week. So I suppose I should hand over to her now..."

"Oh, excellent!" Marie said, jumping to her feet. "Come along, everyone! There is plenty to be done before your big reveal to the public!" And with that, she danced out of the room.

Reluctantly, the Gryffindors stood up and followed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow. I didn't expect as much support for this as I've got. Thanks to everyone who has favourited or followed the story so far, and special thanks go to sillymoose13, potterjay 6466 and ProditorMagnus for reviewing! Your thoughts and feedback on the story are what keep me writing :)**

 **I noticed from reading a review that some people may have been unsure why Hermione knew so much about the Hunger Games during the conversation in the previous chapter. However, that conversation took place after the Gryffindors spending several hours in the apartment, during which Hermione had been doing everything she could to get more information on the Games. So she knew how things were meant to work, and even who some of the more famous victors (such as Finnick Odair) were.** **Hopefully that clears things up a little :)**

 **Concerning this chapter, I'm introducing a large proportion of the twenty-four tributes, and while nearly all of them are named in the books, where there are gaps (in particular, in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw), I am using names of students listed in the 'Original Forty'; that is, the list of student Rowling planned to include in Harry's year, many of which never had anything to do in the books. So that's where some of the names have come from, if you don't recognise them.**

 **I should also mention that I am currently sitting my exams in my final school year (eek!) which will hopefully explain why updates for this story will be sporadic over the next week or two. Once we're into July, I hope to be updating at least two or three times a week :)**

 **Finally, I hope you enjoy today's chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

The ground floor of the Remake Centre was a large, open plan space walled with concrete and stone, an ornate gateway leading out into the streets of the Capitol at the front of the building. Thousands of people had turned up for the ceremonies, lining the city streets all the way to the parade's end at the City Circle. Even from within the Remake Centre, the noise from the crowds outside was almost deafening within.

Lining up in formation approaching the gates were twelve horse-drawn chariots, each ready to transport a pair of tributes through the Capitol. The Gryffindors would lead the parade, followed by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and finally Slytherin. With minutes hurriedly ticking away before the start of the procession, there was a buzz of activity as mentors, stylists and other officials hung around their nervous tributes, desperate to do anything possible to give them the final touch of perfection.

However, while the mood may have been anxious in the Gryffindor camp, elsewhere there was a sense of outright panic. Unlike Harry, Ron and Hermione, many of the students had never faced danger before. Many of them had never had to fear for their lives, or even comprehend that their lives may be at risk, and they had felt the shock of the Hunger Games' announcement far more acutely than the Gryffindors.

Only a few of the more rational students managed to avoid the nerves and the tears, but they were also able to see that one in twenty-four is terribly poor odds. Rather than clutching on to whatever strands of hope they could find, they has simply abandoned hope altogether.

Only one tribute could truly say that the Games were yet to effect them. Only one tribute could say that it was nothing new to be on borrowed time. Only one tribute could say that the panic and terror of the Hunger Games was something they lived with every day. Having spent a year at the mercy of a more powerful man, with the penalty of death looming over his head for failing a task so unachievably hard it should never have been set for him, he now found himself at the mercy of a more powerful man, being forced to play in a game so unachievably hard to win that most would wonder if there was even any point in trying.

Indeed, very little had changed for Draco Malfoy.

Only now, everyone was playing out of the same rulebook.

"Are you even planning on getting on the chariot?" Draco looked up slowly to see his mentor Johanna Mason staring at him, her arms crossed sternly across her chest.

"What's the point?" Draco complained, moving from his resting place against the cold stone wall. "It's not like I have anything to prove to these people, anyway. What does it matter to me what they think of me?"

It had been a tough day for Draco, dragged away from Hogwarts to this strange place, Dumbledore's last words to him still ringing in his ears.

 _I knew, Draco. Just remember that I knew._

How could he have known about the mission the Dark Lord has given to him? Who would have dared let something slip, or worse yet, turn their backs on Voldemort and side with the Order of the Phoenix?

But Draco knew that here, in this strange city, his time as a Death Eater was over. Even if the skills he had picked up might just save his life in the coming weeks.

But never mind all of that, he had been forced into confinement and left with no option but to play their deadly game. And, above all that, his wand had been taken from him. By _Muggles,_ no less! The very thought of their hands on those ten inches of hawthorn was enough to make his blood boil. Draco had never even _spoken_ to a Muggle before today, and now they had taken his pride away from him!

And yet this one, Johanna, was still trying to help him. As if he needed anything she could give him.

"Do you not listen to anything I have to say?" Johanna was a woman in her early twenties, probably an inch or two beneath him, but easily as strong. She had taken a particular interest in Draco that day, in his stubbornness and reluctance to associate with anyone, spare his fellow Slytherins.

"Let me try this again," Johanna said with a sigh, and Draco rolled his eyes at her. He'd be damned if he let her have any sort of influence on what he did. What made her think she could talk to him of all people, the heir to the Malfoy estate, one of the most powerful families in wizarding Britain? "During the Hunger Games, if you're struggling for food, or water, or you're injured, or-"

"I get the idea," Draco snapped. He just wanted her to leave him alone. Forget whatever the Capitol wanted to drag him through, he'd prepare for the Games how he wanted to, not how the Muggles told him he should.

Johanna sighed again. "Well, when you're in need of something, either myself or Haymitch-" she glanced over at her fellow mentor, a man in his early forties who was currently taking to Pansy Parkinson and her stylist- "will be able to send you gifts to get you out of trouble."

"Fine," Draco said, reluctantly admitting that Johanna was of some use to him, after all. "You'll be able to get me out of a fix." He laughed softly. "Not that I'll need your help. You really think they'll be able touch me? I'm worth more than ten of those Hufflepuffs-"

" _Now you listen to me, Draco Malfoy!_ " Johanna snapped, moving forward menacingly so that Draco's back was once again pressed against the stone wall. "I don't give a damn who you think you are, who your parents are, how much money you have or what house you live in. In the arena, you're worth as much as anyone else is, and with one mistake you can die just as easily as anyone else. Now, if you just get off your high horse for _one moment_ -"

"I don't care what you think of me," Draco retorted. "And I don't care what all those people think of me, either. None of them are worth my time."

"You know what, they're not worth your time," Johanna agreed, which actually surprised Draco enough for him to stay quiet for a moment. "I couldn't care less about them, either. What does some poor kid from District Seven who grew up on scraps have in common with the soft, pampered fools here in the Capitol? Nothing. But they're important. Where do you think Haymtich and I will get the money to support you in the arena? All the people out there in the Capitol. They sponsor the tributes they want to win, paying for insurance for you, so we can get you out of a tight spot if we need to. You don't have to care for them, you just have to understand how to get them to like you."

Draco hated the idea that he would be reliant on the Muggles for survival, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he admitted to himself that Johanna was right, no matter how much it killed him to do so. Still, he'd gotten himself into this mess with Johanna, and he wasn't about to back down now.

"Whatever," Draco said. "Can't I just show them what I can do with a weapon or something, rather than go through this whole presentation?"

"That comes later," Johanna says. "For now, you just need to make sure they notice you. To make sure they recognise your face." For a moment both Draco and Johanna were silent, before the victor continued with a sigh. "You know, they told me that Slytherin House was a place of ambition, where people had the brains to actually go through with their plans and outsmart everyone else. So far, the only thing I'm getting from you is arrogance."

That, more than anything else, was what finally got to Draco.

"Fine," he spat. "I'll do your stupid parade." And with that he strode past Johanna, bumping shoulders with her as he went. What made her think she had the right to insult the House of Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest sorcerers of his age? And to think she had actually acted like she knew a thing or two about Hogwarts...

Draco was furious, and he needed to vent.

Looking up, he walked over towards the green and silver chariot that he was scheduled to share with Daphne Greengrass, he tried to find to find a suitable target. Finally settling on one of the shallow, overly-excitable members of his prep team, he began striding towards them before he noticed Potter out of the corner of his eye, deep in conversation with one of his mentors.

Normally, Draco has a long list of quips and insults prepared that he was able to throw at whatever Gryffindor was causing him grief, but lately getting one up on Potter and the Weasel had been low on his list of priorities; he had been doing everything to avoid attracting attention to himself during his mission at Hogwarts this year, and everything else had slipped from his mind; hell, he'd even given up his position as Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

 _Oh, sod it,_ Draco thought to himself as he made his first strides towards the so-called Chosen One. _I'll just wing it..._

* * *

So let me get this straight," Harry said. "The best thing for me to do here is try to enjoy myself."

"That about sums it up," Finnick replied. "You just need to be yourself and hope the public get a good impression of you. There's no point being sulky and depressed. From what I hear, it's pretty hard not to enjoy yourself when thousands of people are cheering your name."

"Believe me, I should know," Katniss added. "I was determined to be angry throughout it, but I was taken like the everyone else just a couple of minutes in."

"Only because everyone loved you," Finnick added with a laugh.

"Says _Finnick Odair,_ " Katniss smiles. "You know, I could spend ten years giving away a thousand dollars to random Capitol people every day, and maybe then I'd reach your level of stardom."

"Hmm," Finnick said, mock pondering. "Maybe fifteen years and you'd be close."

Katniss rolled her eyes at that and punched Finnick playfully on the arm.

"Anyway," Hermione said, sitting on the edge of a red and gold chariot beside the two victors. "We just need to make sure we seem happy enough and friendly enough for the audience to like us." Her two mentors nodded.

"Beyond that, the opening ceremonies become a big political thing where the President gives a massive speech, and you just need to look like you're listening," Finnick says, brushing the whole thing off. "The complete ceremony takes only a little over half an hour, so you don't even need to keep your attention for long. As long as you don't make a complete fool of yourself, don't worry about it."

"You might want to tell Neville that," Hermione said nervously, glancing back at Neville standing with his stylist beside the chariot behind. "I'll see to it," Finnick said, excusing himself from the others.

"Anything else you two need?" Katniss asked.

"No, thank-you," Hermione said, but Harry asked, "Are we allowed to wander from our chariots? I noticed Ernie MacMillan walking up this way earlier..."

"Yes, provided you're back here for eight," Katniss replied. "How long have we got?"

"Just over ten minutes. So if you want a quick look at the opposition, we can take a walk if you like."

Since arriving in the Capitol that morning, all of the tributes had not been gathered together, and Harry didn't yet know exactly who he was up against. Of the forty students in his school year, twenty-four of them were here in the Capitol, and he was curious to know who had been left behind at Hogwarts, and who he would meet in the arena.

"All right then," Harry said, turning away from the chariot. "You coming, Hermione?"

"No, I'm going to stay here," Hermione said, glancing at the chariot ahead of her. Ahead sat Ron and Lavender Brown, whose recent break-up had been news all around the school during the past week. The two hadn't spoken to each other since, and it didn't look like they were about to begin any time soon. "Ron looks like he could do with some cheering up."

"Well, I'll see you in a few minutes," Harry said with a smile, turning away with Katniss. The chariots behind Gryffindor belonged to Hufflepuff, and Harry recognised all six of their tributes instantly as the stood in a group with their mentors by the front chariot. As Harry and Katniss approached, their two young mentors turned to face the newcomers.

"Katniss!" a stocky young man said, rushing forward to take her hand. "I heard you were taking Gryffindor this year. Any luck with your tributes?" "They're a promising bunch," Katniss said with a smile, glancing at Harry. "Harry, this is Peeta Mellark, my fiancée. We won the Hunger Games together last year."

"You won the Games together?" Harry said, shocked. "I thought only one person could win every year." A sinking feeling slowly built inside him. A part of him had hoped that for the sake of his friends, perhaps the Gamemakers would consider making an exception. However, if it had happened the year before, it would be too much to hope that lightning would strike twice, wouldn't it?

"Well, usually only one person does win," Peeta said in a softer voice than Harry expected. He ran a hand through his blond hair, looking across at Katniss, as though he was scared to look away from her for too long. "The Gamemakers felt sympathetic to our situation, and allowed us both to live. Luckily for me; I was half dead before Katniss saved me."

"We saved each other," Katniss said, blushing slightly. "Remember the instance with the Careers and the tree?"

"I try not to," Peeta replied solemnly. Looking for a change in conversation, gesturing to Harry he said, "And who is this you've brought over to us?"

"Harry Potter, sir," Harry said politely, reaching out to shake Peeta's hand.

"Less of the formalities, please," Peeta laughed. "I'm the same age as you. I take it you must be familiar with our tributes; friends with some of them, I imagine."

"You could say that," Harry said grimly.

"It is a terrible thing that the Gamemakers have forced this upon you. A whole arena filled with your friends..." Clearly Peeta didn't know what else to say on the matter, for he said no more, and Harry turned to talk to the Hufflepuff tributes instead. Some of them he had seen earlier in the day, such as Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan, but others he hadn't spoken to in some time, such as Susan Bones, Sophie Roper, Megan Jones and Wayne Hopkins. He spoke briefly with Justin - just a few words about the terrible situation they had been landed in - before Katniss was dragging Harry on towards the Ravenclaws.

Harry found that he knew the Ravenclaw tributes far better than the Hufflepuffs, as all three of the boys - Michael Corner, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein - had been members of _Dumbledore's Army_ , Harry's illegal Defense Against the Dark Arts club, during their fifth year. Of the girls, Harry had only spoken at length to Padma Patil, sister of Parvati, and barely knew Mandy Brocklehurst and Lisa Turpin.

After a few brief moments in conversation with Anthony Goldstein, Katniss was again dragging Harry on, this time towards the Slytherin chariots, all the while lecturing him about the time. Harry was apprehensive about approaching the Slytherin tributes. Even those who Harry didn't openly despise were standoffish towards him because of his repetitive triumphs over Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch. He had played Seeker in the last four meetings between the teams, and had caught the Golden Snitch every time.

Glancing over at the chariots, he saw hostile glares being thrown at him by Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode, and noticed Draco Malfoy deep in an argument with a young woman he could only assume was his mentor. Unsure what to do, he was grateful when Katniss went dashing towards the other Slytherin mentor, and Harry didn't hesitate to follow.

"Harry, meet Haymitch Abernathy of District Twelve," Katniss said with a smile, gesturing to the paunchy man with short brown hair who stood beside her. He was in his early forties and smelt far too strongly of alcohol. "He was my mentor during last year's Games."

"And boy was I lucky to get her, too," Haymitch replied, more cohesively than Harry was expecting. "Of course, nobody knew what a ride the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games were going to be until the Games began for real."

"I'm sure not," Harry said neutrally, feeling as though he was walking into a conversation that had been going on for months, judging by the way that the two victors were looking at each other. Despite being a generation apart, Harry could tell that there was a deep understanding between the pair. "Apparently last year's Games were-"

"Oi, Potter!"

Harry's head snapped around to see Draco Malfoy swaggering towards him, dressed in a black suit with a green trim, his white-blond hair neatly combed. His grey eyes were almost begging for a fight. Instinctively, Harry reached into his back pocket for his wand, only to grasp at nothing. He had forgotten that the Capitol had taken it from him. Cursing under his breath, Harry walked away from his mentors to confront the young Slytherin.

In a strange way, after such an unusual and stressful day, Harry was almost grateful something as normal as a confrontation with Malfoy at the end of it.

"Realised yet that Dumbledore won't be able to save you this time, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, a wicked grin on his face. "You'll be all on your own in the arena... Can't count on the Capitol saving _the Boy Who Lived_ when they don't know how special he is, do they?"

"Don't push your luck," Harry snapped, walking right up to Malfoy and looking him straight in the eye. "What are you going to do when your half-starved and bleeding to death and haven't got Crabbe and Goyle to hide behind any more? Write home to Mummy and Daddy, are we? Try and get their protection?"

"Don't you dare speak about my father like that!"

"Your father is a despicable man who got everything that he deserved. A Death Eater deserves nothing better than a lifetime in Azkaban."

"You'd better be careful what you say, now you can't fluke your way out of harm again!" Malfoy's expression darkened, and he leaned in towards Harry slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The rules have changed, Potter. This isn't Britain any more. There's no Ministry of Magic watching our every move here."

"What are you getting at?"

"Four words, Potter. _Crucio. Imperio. Avada Kedavra._ " With that, Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Nobody here knows those spells, Potter, never mind care what they do. How long will it take you, I wonder, to cave in under pressure? And what, when the table turns on you, are the Weasel King and your Mudblood girlfriend going to be able to do to protect you against Unforgivable Curses?" Malfoy chuckled slightly, trying to gauge Harry's reaction. When Harry had no answer, he turned on his heels and walked away, softly whistling _Weasley Is Our King_ , hands clasped behind his back.

And as Draco Malfoy walked away, Harry just stood where he was, a thousand thoughts bowling each other over within his head.

He had realised just how deadly these Games were going to be.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **Some of you may notice that I didn't include the names of the other two Slytherin males beside Draco Malfoy, and that's because I still haven't quite made up my mind who to include. I'm stuck between the expected (at least, I think people are expecting them) pair of Crabbe and Goyle, or the other Slytherin boys in Harry's year, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.**

 **Opinions, anyone?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks once again to everyone who has favourited or followed this story, and special thanks go to trumpetgrl2, sillymoose13, Joshua the Terminian and potterjay 6466 for reviewing! The support truly is appreciated :)**

 **Concerning the male Slytherin tributes, in a style akin to the First Quarter Quell, the votes have been cast and Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini have been chosen to join Draco Malfoy in representing Slytherin in the Games. I'm sure you'll notice them pop up some point in the next couple of chapters.**

 **Also, concerning a review asking about why Hannah Abbott isn't present in this story, she was pulled out of Hogwarts early on in _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ after her mother was killed (presumably by Death Eaters), and doesn't return to school until Voldemort and the Ministry make attendance compulsory in the final book. As such, she was not at Hogwarts at the time the first chapter of this story was set, and so (sadly) she cannot appear in the story.**

 **Finally, I hope that you all enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Harry was in a foul mood by the time he had returned to the chariot at the front of the queue, glaring towards the gates ahead of him as he took his place beside Hermione.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione asked him, the concern visible on her face.

"Malfoy," Harry glared, avoiding looking at her.

"Oh, Harry, what's he been saying now?" Hermione said disapprovingly.

"Oh, nothing much," Harry said vacantly. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, "No, Hermione, forget that." Taking a moment to collect himself, he told her about his argument with the young Slytherin, and what Malfoy had said about the Unforgivable Curses, leaving out the part where Malfoy had called her Mudblood.

"No," Hermione had said to that, her face whitening. "He wouldn't dare."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Harry replied grimly. "But I don't know whether it's going to be him or someone else, but someone will use the curses. Someone will be desperate enough, Hermione. I can tell."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that, and so she fell silent for a while, her lips pursed in thought. "Harry, you understand that the Unforgivable Curses are notoriously difficult to cast, right? There's a good chance that, even if all of us had the conviction to use them, I doubt any of us are strong enough to use them properly."

"How do you know? You've never tried."

"No, but you have," Hermione said, almost instantly regretting it. Harry had once told her that he had tried to use the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange, the night Sirius Black died at the Ministry of Magic the previous summer. Hermione remembered surprisingly little of that day, having been rendered unconscious by a Death Eater, Antonin Dolohov, early in the violence, but she could remember how tormented Harry had been for weeks afterwards, and regretted ever mentioning the event. "You're one of the strongest wizards in our year, and if it was beyond you, I doubt there will be many around who can manage it."

"Except Malfoy," Harry snapped. "I'm sure his Death Eater friends will have given him all the tools in the toolbox."

"Harry, why do you keep paying so much attention to what he of all people says?" Hermione said frustratedly. "You know what he's like; he looks to get one over you as much as you do him, and he's so full of himself he'll brag until he's blue in the face. Surely he's the last person you should be listening to."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Finnick called out to him, telling him that the opening ceremonies were about to begin, and thoughts of Malfoy and his threats were temporarily forgotten as Harry and Hermione led the way out into the bright Capitol streets, lined with thousands of cheering fans.

The roar of the crowd was almost deafening as they rode out onto the street together, the first of twelve chariots, and the excitable voice of a Capitol man announced their names to the masses above the celebratory music. Taking a first glance around the streets, lit in a muted orange in the glow of the evening, Harry noticed Ron and Lavender following his chariot out into the Capitol, pulled by four silver-white horses of its own.

As opposed to most years, the Capitol had avoided the garish costumes that most tributes were forced to wear at the ceremonies in favour of a more refined approach. Like Harry, most of the boys had been dressed in simple black suits embellished with a splash of colour representing their house. The girls, however, wore a range of dresses that, for the Capitol, were really quite tasteful, with the focus once again on the colours of each house; a rich red and gold for Gryffindor, a deep green and silver for Slytherin, royal blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, and canary yellow and black for Hufflepuff.

As the chariots made their slow procession through the city, the tremendous noise of the crowd became overwhelming, rising above even the pompous, jubilant music blaring out of speaker systems position high above them on the rooftops. As Harry noticed more and more excited faces in the crowd calling out his name, his anxiety about the Games started to melt away. Smiling and waving back to the bright figures in the crowds, Harry could almost admit that he was enjoying himself.

Over time he began to notice that he wasn't the only one attracting all the attention. There were other names he heard being called out, most noticeably Hermione's.

Turning to face her, he noticed Hermione grinning from ear to ear, laughing and smiling and waving, calling out thanks to her admirers.

"Enjoying yourself?" Harry asked, nudging her shoulder to grab her attention.

"Oh!" Hermione replied, surprised for a moment. She had been completely lost in her own thoughts, immersed in the moment. "Yeah, I guess I am. It's not every day I get all the attention, you know." She laughed again, almost hysterically, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's strange," Harry said quietly. "Nobody here knows who I am, and yet they all cheer for me."

Hermione laughed at that, too. "Oh, Harry, you do realise that just because these people don't know you're famous doesn't mean they can't like you."

"I know," Harry sighed, Hermione's excitement and optimism leaving him feeling deflated. She was in a strange mood, enjoying herself far too much, and Harry wasn't sure if he liked it. It just didn't seem right, considering what was to come. "I just wish that for once, all the attention wasn't on me."

"You know, that's the point of this whole thing," Hermione said, gesturing around herself a little too wildly for Harry's liking. "From what I've been reading, nearly everyone who wins the Games has a lot of public support, so you should just be glad people like you."

"I guess," Harry shrugged, but before he could continue, Hermione had noticed a striking red rose at her feet that someone had thrown towards her carriage, and Harry once again lost her to the occasion.

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the procession reached its destination, the City Circle, where the president would give an opening speech from the balcony of his own mansion. The crowd's reception peaked in an excited crescendo as the final chariots rolled into position at the centre of the City Circle, and the music finished with a final flourish.

Polite applause washed around the City Circle as the president walked out calmly onto his balcony, taking a moment to observe his subjects (most particularly, his latest batch of tributes) before the City Circle fell silent and the president began his speech.

It took Harry a couple of lines of the speech for him to finally realise who the president was. But the way he spoke and the way he held himself were unmistakable.

And, of course, there was the brilliant white rose in his lapel.

"Snow's the president?" Harry asked Hermione quietly as Snow continued to make his introductions and reminisce over previous Hunger Games.

Hermione gave a soft laugh. "Well, yes," she said with a smile. "Who did you think he was if he was bossing about the Head Gamemaker, one of the most important men in the country, when we met him this morning?"

Harry didn't know. It had simply never occurred to him at the time that he might have been talking to someone important. At least, someone important to the world, and not just their desperate situation.

Growing bored of Snow's monologue rather quickly, Harry began to look around the City Circle at where they had ended up, but his eyes very quickly landed on the large screens that, most of the time, projected an image of President Snow, allowing spectators further back from the balcony to have a good view of him making his speech. However, as the speech dragged on, Harry noticed that the screens began to spend more time showing images of the tributes, panning from a nervous Neville to an excited Hermione to a sullen Draco Malfoy. He noticed that certain faces, began to appear on the screens more regularly. Among these were the faces of Michael Corner, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Blaise Zabini, Hermione's and his own. He barely noticed Ron appearing on the screens at all.

Eventually the President's speech concluded with what Harry now knew to the something of a catchphrase for the Games; "Good luck, tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favour." Once Snow had disappeared back into his mansion, the music started up again, the tributes were paraded around the City Circle once more to rapturous applause before they were led into the ground floor of a tall, elegant building, where they were greeted by their mentors as they dismounted from their chariots.

"Well done, all of you," Finnick said with a smile, clapping his tributes as they gathered around them. Marie was babbling to herself endlessly and irrelevantly beside him, and Katniss hung behind the pair of them, silent. "Nothing that happened tonight really matters compared to what's to come in the next few days, but you all did well not to make fools of yourselves, which was the most important thing."

"We really did well?" Parvati asked.

"Definitely," Katniss nodded.

"Well, I'm sure some of you did," Ron said miserably. "I barely got noticed at all, compared to Harry and Hermione."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. Ron was right, of course. Harry and Hermione had taken all the attention away from those around them, and unfortunately that had included Ron.

Eventually, Hermione spared him from having to come up with an answer. "Ron, you do understand that because we were at the front, everyone was obviously going to notice us first. If it had been the other way round, you'd have had all the attention and not us."

Harry realised that Hermione had neglected to mention that Ron, in his poor mood, had not made much of an attempt to bridge the gap to the audience at all. Still, he thought it would be best not to bring it up, as Ron's mood had barely improved, despite Hermione's words.

"Yeah, whatever," Ron had said, shrugging, before falling silent once more and leaving the conversation to his fellow tributes.

"So, where now?" Harry asked Katniss. He could see the other houses starting to move away from the chariots and off towards two sets of elevators.

"Nowhere, really," she replied. "Only back up to the fourth floor, where you'll be spending the night."

"Back up?" Neville asked.

"Yes, back up. This is the Training Centre, where we met you earlier," Finnick said. "It's where you'll be kept until the Games begin. There's no reason for us to hang around much longer down here, so we might as well head over towards the elevators and get upstairs."

With that, the Gryffindors made their way into a large glass elevator, the entire external wall made of glass, so that as the tributes rose up into the night sky, the brilliant array of lights spread out across the city, offering such an amazing view that it left Harry speechless, and Ron had to drag him away from the window once the group had reached the fourth floor.

From there, Harry could barely manage to do anything, the long day finally catching up on him. He quickly said good night to the rest of the group and dismissed himself, walking alone down the corridor to his bedroom. Once inside, he didn't even bother to undress before crashing onto the plush bed, still dressed in his suit.

It had been a long day, and a stressful one. A day that had begun in 1997 in his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, and had ended in the bustling heart of the Capitol, several centuries later. Had he have been more alert, he would have spent time thinking about just how crazy the day had been, but he was too tired. Instead, he barely had time to rest his weary head on his crisp white pillow before he was asleep.

* * *

Morning came with a banging on the door. Slowly, reluctantly, Harry was pulled from a deep sleep to the sound of Finnick hammering against his door.

"Wake up, Potter! You've got a big day ahead of you, and training starts in thirty minutes, so if you want any food, you need to be out here _fast!_ "

A quick glance at the clock beside his bed told Harry that Finnick wasn't lying. It was nine twenty-five. Cursing to himself, he flung himself out of bed, aiming to break the world record for the quickest shower, but was completely stumped the moment he looked at the controls. There must have been at least fifty different buttons, and none of them were labelled in anything other than short-hand. In the end, Harry just tried pressing random controls until something at least worked, and then hurriedly dressed himself in the muted red and gold sports clothes left beside his bed, which reminded him of his Quidditch kit.

 _They're really overdoing this whole house colours thing_ , Harry thought to himself as he entered the dining room to see the other eight members of his team around the table, all dressed in various shades of red.

"Nice of you to show up," Finnick said sternly, directing Harry towards the empty seat at the table between Neville and Parvati. Once Harry had taken a seat, Katniss pushed a plate of buttered toast in front of him, telling him to eat up quickly.

"Harry, you know you've still got soap in your hair?" Hermione said with an amused smile, and Harry sighed.

"At least I'm here," he shrugged, desperately trying to get through his toast.

"That's the important thing," Finnick agreed, sitting at the head of the table. "Katniss and I have a few things we need to talk to you about before we send all of you off to your first training session." All around the table, the Gryffindors sat up in their seats, listening intently. "You will have three days of training in the gymnasium beneath this building, where you will train alongside the other tributes. Most importantly, this is a time for you to pick up some skills that may help you in the arena, or otherwise hone the skills you already have. But secondly, this gives you the opportunity to decide which tributes you would want as allies during the early stages of the Games. As much as you may want to go it alone, barely anyone in the Games wins without the help of others somewhere along the way."

"That's because most of the winners come from the Career districts, right?" Hermione asked, and the other Gryffindors just turned around to stare at her. Blushing slightly, she held up The Hunger Games: A History, which she had been reading in her lap throughout the morning.

"Anyone would think that book's your bible," Ron said beside her.

"It might as well be, considering all the information it has about the Hunger Games," Hermione replied.

"For those of you who don't know, the Career districts are Districts One, Two and Four, where the tributes traditionally ally with each other for strength in numbers. Unlike the other districts, they train children to be prepared for the Hunger Games, and send their strongest to volunteer as tribute for the Games each summer. It's no surprise that they nearly always win."

"What district were you from?" Lavender asked him.

"Four," Finnick replied with a smile.

"Anyway, you want us to stick together for a while during the Games, right?" Neville asked hopefully, looking around to see if the other Gryffindors approved of the idea.

"Considering none of you will have any real advantage in weapons training over anyone else, I imagine strength in numbers will be useful," Finnick said.

"Maybe," Hermione said. "But I don't think we should be one large group."

"Why not?" Parvati asked her anxiously.

"Because then the Gamemakers will target us," Hermione explained. "If one group becomes too powerful, the Gamemakers will do what they can to break us up, to keep the Games more entertaining. There was one year that they expected the Careers to be so strong that they blew them all up barely an hour into the Games. They were gathering supplies at the Cornucopia - it's this big golden structure that they keep supplies in at the start of the Games, and we have to fight it out for them - having with all the other tributes either dead or having fled the scene, the Gamemakers just blew all six of them up while they were sorting out their supplies."

Finnick nodded gravely. "It was before I was born, but I've seen the footage."

"If we can do anything not to provoke them, then I think that would be a good plan of action," Hermione concluded. "I know exactly who I'm going to be allied with, and I'm sure both of them would agree in an instant."

"You're damn right we would," Ron said, and Harry nodded with a smile. There was no way the three of them would abandon each other. Not if they could help it.

"Well, I guess my plan's not going to be working, then," Finnick said defeatedly, leaning back in his chair.

"For the rest of you, training will be a great chance to talk to the tributes from other houses," Katniss added, taking over from Finnick. "You'll be able to see who has talent during training, and decide who would be worth allying with; it's the perfect opportunity to negotiate with others and work out who your friends and enemies are."

"Unless you were a Career like me," Finnick said with an easy grin. "In which case, you spend three days showing off and intimidating the weaklings."

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be born like you, Finnick," Katniss said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, my best advice - coming from a non-Career perspective - is that you try to learn as much as you can, and make the most of the opportunity to pick up useful allies."

"I'm sure my sister will join us," Parvati said reassuringly to Lavender, who was panicking slightly. "She's in Ravenclaw," Parvati added, for the benefit of her mentors.

"Then it might be useful to see if you can learn any of the Ravenclaws' strategies from her," Katniss added. "You can never know too much about your opposition."

With that, the clock in the dining room chimed ten, and Marie stood to her feet excitedly.

"Right, it's time to go, so everyone, follow me to the elevator!" The Gryffindor escort almost skipped from the room, her auburn curls bouncing along beside her.

For the second time in two days, the Gryffindors had little choice but to reluctantly follow, anxiety building within them.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I have another question for you guys this time. As this Hunger Games is meant to be the Seventy-Fifth, should I have Harry and co. thrown into the clock arena used in _Catching Fire_ , or a new arena of my own creation? I'm wondering what everyone would prefer to see. Let me know what you think, either via pm or in a review :)**

 **P.S. My final exam is tomorrow morning, so updates are going to be far more regular from now on. Wooo! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Again, thank to everyone who has favourited or followed this story, and special thanks go trumpetgrl2, sillymoose13, Kh1326, algebraniac, ProditorMagnus and santiago poncini20 to for reviewing! :)**

 **Concerning the arena for this Games, the opinion seems a bit split, but I think I'm going to create a new arena for the tributes to be sent to for this story. More than anything else, I just think it'll be more fun to act the Gamemaker while I'm writing this, rather than using Collins' arenas for my own stories.**

 **Good news! I have now finished my A-Level exams (any Brits out there will know what I mean), so I have now got far too much free time on my hands! Expect updates if not daily, then certainly once every two or three days for the foreseeable future :)**

 **I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

When the elevator reached the bottom of the Training Centre, it opened out into the gymnasium, a vast room probably seventy metres in length, if not longer. It had a high ceiling with a vast array of bright white lights illuminating the dark floor, and Harry noticed several viewing platforms overlooking the room, where a small number of purple-robed Gamemakers had already gathered. Around the room were various racks of weapons and obstacle courses, Capitol attendants standing patiently beside each one.

"Good luck, everyone!" Marie said cheerily as she bustled her tributes out of the elevator into the gymnasium, before taking her leave as Hermione led her fellow Gryffindors further into the room.

In the centre of the room, the tributes of the other three houses had already gathered around a tall Capitol woman who swiftly introduced herself as Atala, the head trainer, and proceeded to explain the training schedule. There are various stations around the room that teach a variety of activities, from survival skills to fighting techniques. There will be experts available for tuition at each station, if needed. Tributes are free to visit whatever station they please at any time. Should we wish to practice our skills with a partner, there are assistants available at each station, as combat with other tributes is strictly prohibited.

As Atala goes on to read out the long list of stations available around the room, Harry begins to take a look around the room, not only at the environment he was in but at his fellow tributes. This was the first time since the start of his journey through the Games that all twenty-four tributes had been gathered together in one place, and he was able to look at his former classmates in a new light, trying to work out who the threats would be. Of course, he was instantly wary of anyone athletic, but thankfully there weren't many sixth-years in the Hogwarts Quidditch teams, so that didn't narrow things down much. Instead, he just started to work his way around the circle of tributes, picking out threats himself. Michael Corner, a boy who Harry had never really got along with since he had been Ginny Weasley's boyfriend during the previous school year, looked like the most dangerous of the Ravenclaws, and while many of the Hufflepuffs looked intimidated or nervous of the tributes around them, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan seemed to have a steely resolve that almost caught Harry by surprise.

And, of course, he was suspicious of anyone from Slytherin. He had always thought Malfoy would be a threat, especially since their heated conversation in the Remake Centre the night before, but for the first time he really appreciated that his rival was no longer flanked by the usual goons, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Perhaps it was a small mercy that Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were chosen to represent Slytherin alongside him. Nott was a tall, gangly boy who Harry had occasionally saw hanging around with Malfoy around school, and although they had rarely spoke to each other he knew there was no good feeling between them. Thanks to Harry and the other members of the D.A., Nott's father had been one of the Death Eaters caught by the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries the previous summer, and he now faced a lifetime's incarceration in Azkaban prison.

Of Zabini, Harry knew little; like Harry, Blaise had been a member of the _Slug Club_ , an elitist dinner club run by Professor Slughorn that year at Hogwarts, but Harry had never paid him much attention. He was tall and sturdily-built, dark-skinned and with high cheekbones and icy, slanting eyes. Lurking next to Malfoy, the way he held himself reminded Harry of Finnick; he knew he was attractive, and made sure everyone else knew it, too. Arrogant and vain, Harry thought of him as a quieter version of Draco Malfoy.

Eventually, Atala released the young witches and wizards to train, but for a moment everyone stood in the middle of the room silently, unsure where to go first. Then Malfoy strode off towards the swords station, Zabini sauntering behind him, and everyone began to disperse. Soon, only Harry, Ron and Hermione were left alone in the centre of the room.

"So," Ron said, looking around at the myriad options the three of them had. "Where first?"

"I don't suppose it matters," Hermione replied. "If we've got three days, we'll be able to have a go at everything we need to."

"In which case, I'd like to get my hands on the biggest weapon I can find," Ron said, and disappeared off towards the spears and javelins kept at the far end of the room. Harry started to follow him, but Hermione held him back.

"You really think that's going to work?" Hermione asked Harry. "I mean, look at us. We're not the tallest or the strongest, so there's no point going for spears or axes or any of that. It doesn't matter whether we try or not, there will be other people better at throwing spears than us, simply because they're stronger. Like Ron. We're going to need something that requires a little more skill to use. Something will a little _finesse_."

And so Harry found himself being dragged towards the archery station.

The expert on hand was more than willing to help the two Gryffindors, who were the first pair to approach him that day. He handed Harry and Hermione a pair of white curved bows, which felt feather-light in their hands, and ran through the basics with them before leaving them to practice on the small target range at the back of the gym.

Harry had expected that he would be able to get the hang of archery quickly, that he would be able to master the target range easily, but there was more to archery than he had thought. It wasn't just about how well he could aim the bow, it depended on how firm his grip was, how he balanced the bow in his hands, how tightly he pulled the bowstring, the angle of release... There was just so much he had to concentrate on. Twenty minutes in, and he had barely hit anything but the closest target.

Hermione, however, had taken to archery very well indeed, and although her accuracy was not terrific, she had at least managed to hit every target, even managing to put an arrow into the very edge of the furthest target, forty metres away. Harry tried to watch her stance, copy the way that she lined up her shot, but try as he might, he couldn't replicate her position well enough to improve much more. Frustratedly, he stood by and watched as she unloaded another quiver of arrows towards the variety of targets, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. When she finally turned around to collect more arrows, she paused as she noticed Harry watching her.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, noticing the bow hanging loosely in his hand by his side.

"I can't do it," Harry replied bluntly. "You're so much better at this than I am." He sighed softly. "It's like you've done this before."

"You mean you haven't?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said. "Why would I have?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. My parents took me to do archery at this place near my house a few times when I was younger. I haven't been for years, though. I sort of assumed, having grown up with Muggles like I did, that you might have."

Harry laughed softly. "We never went anywhere unless Dudley wanted to," he said. "And you really think he'd want to spend an afternoon shooting arrows when there were video games he could play?"

"No, I guess not," Hermione smiled. After a pause, she added. "Well, I guess archery isn't for everyone. Maybe you should try something else? It could be more useful than battling on here."

The expert, who had been standing by passively, moved towards them as Harry handed back his bow. "If I were in your position," she said, replacing the bow on the rack beside her, "I would go and find something that suits your strengths. What are you best at?"

For a moment, Harry was flung back into a memory of Professor Moody - at least, the person he thought was Professor Moody - asking him the same thing two and a half years ago, when he was about to face a dragon in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. The memory, and the other memories it brought with it, were so overwhelming for a few moments that Hermione had to answer for him.

"He's quick," she said. "And he's agile. He's got good reflexes, and he's a quick decision-maker when he's in a tight spot."

"Well, perhaps close combat might be a better option for you," the expert predicted. "Short swords, maybe. Or perhaps knives and daggers."

Harry looked over at the swords station, where Draco Malfoy was still sparring with an assistant. The fluidity of his movements and the ease and grace with which he held the weapon gave away that he was clearly no beginner, either.

 _Does everyone have some sort of secret ability?_ Harry thought to himself as his gaze moved over to the knives station, where Neville and Pansy Parkinson were both practicing independently.

"I'll give daggers a try," Harry said, trying to be optimistic, and he bid Hermione farewell, walking across the room to the knives station. There his luck improved, and it turned out that his fast reflexes - a second-hand perk picked up from years of training as a Seeker - meant that he was nimble enough to find a way past all the assistants within half an hour. Slowly his confidence rose, and by the time that training stopped for lunch, Harry felt that with a dagger in each hand, there would be no stopping him in the Games.

"I don't know how you manage it," Neville said sullenly as he walked to the lunch tables with Harry from the knife station. He had spent the previous two hours clumsily working on basic defensive techniques, to little success. "I'm rubbish at everything."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. While relieved that he had found something he was good at, he couldn't help but feel sorry for Neville, who never seemed to be much use at anything, save Herbology, and Harry seriously doubted there would be any magical plants terrorising them in the arena.

Taking a seat at the lunch table between Ron and Hermione, Harry recounted the morning with his friends, and listened to Ron telling him about his success at the spears station.

"Well, at least we all have something we're reasonably good with," Hermione concluded happily. "And we've still got two and a half days of training left."

"We're not guaranteed to get those weapons, though, are we?" Ron asked her.

"No. Like I said earlier, all the weapons get stacked up at the Cornucopia, where the Games begin. There's a massive free-for-all as everyone fights over choice supplies at the start of the Games."

"So there's a good chance we won't get what we want?"

"Sadly, yes," Hermione replied sullenly.

"We'd better just give everything a go, then," Ron said, and Harry nodded. "You going to join us this afternoon, Hermione?"

"No," she said, glaring over at the table next to her, where the Slytherins, led by Nott and Malfoy, were trying their hardest to rile her up with crass comments and inappropriate gestures. "I've been thinking-"

"No surprises there," Ron said, laughing when Hermione turned her glare on him.

" _Anyway,_ I was going to say that there is so much more to the Games than being able to fight. Whatever hostile environment we get thrown into, we're going to need to be able to keep ourselves alive. It doesn't matter how well we can defend ourselves if we end up starving, or freezing to death. I think I need to visit the survival stations to get as many tips as possible, just to make sure we don't get caught out by the environment."

"Well, it's better you than us," Ron said through a mouthful of sandwich. "You'll remember more than we will."

"I was hoping that you two would join me," Hermione admitted. "But if you two think that it'll be _too boring_ and you'd rather lob weapons about or whatever, then by all means, go and do that instead."

She had been trying to convince the other two to join her at the survival stations, and Harry was almost willing to go with her, but Ron had completely missed her subtle hints.

"Don't worry about it, we'll just learn it all from you later," he said, rising from the table. "Come on, Harry, let's go and try the axes."

And so the trio had departed in different directions for the afternoon sessions, with Harry and Ron trying a variety of different weapons while Hermione studied furiously at the survival stations. Throughout the afternoon, Harry and Ron tried axes, spears, swords, maces, bows (again) and a variety of other, more unusual weapons, but Harry never found anything he was quite so natural with as the daggers he had used that morning. Ron, however, seemed quite versatile, and was able to adapt reasonably well to everything.

That evening, when reporting back to their mentors on their progress at dinner, Katniss and Finnick were delighted with how things had gone for the trio, and were glad to see that they had learned a lot. Over the course of the meal, Hermione was once again with a book in her lap, this time one that Katniss had fetched for her from a nearby library; a guide for detecting poisonous plants.

"You understand that it's a risk to just let her learn everything and assume she'll be there for you?" Finnick told Harry over dinner.

"Hermione will do fine," Harry said confidently. "She can look after herself."

"I never doubted that," Finnick said. "I just know that you two seem to be completely reliant on her knowledge."

"Says the _Career tribute_ ," Katniss says, nudging Finnick. "You never bothered to learn a thing about survival skills yourself. You just relied on sponsor support, and I'm sure they will, too. Harry and Hermione got a lot of attention at the opening ceremonies last night. If their interviews are anywhere near half-decent, enough people will get behind them to give them a helping hand when they need it," she told him confidently. "They'll be fine."

"Yeah," Ron said, sitting up a little taller in his seat. "We'll be fine."

* * *

After several hours of idle conversation, Harry returned to his room for the night, where he noticed that his school bag had been returned to him, and it sat at the foot of his bed. He hadn't realised that he had lost it. Craving the desire for something normal, he emptied its contents out onto his bed.

There wasn't much inside the bag - it had been a Saturday back at Hogwarts, after all - just a quill and ink, a few sheets of scrap parchment and a couple of textbooks he hadn't bothered to take out the bag from Friday's lessons. And at the bottom of the small pile of belongings, there was the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book.

Since he had discovered the book back in September, Harry had often spent a few minutes every night before going to sleep flicking through its battered pages, reading over the Prince's scruffy annotations and improvements to various potions, feeling a rush of excitement whenever he discovered another of the Half-Blood Prince's invented spells scribbled in the corner of a page, and an immense desire to try it out. After all, several of the Prince's spells had come in handy that year, especially _Muffliato_ and _Langlock_ , but there was one spell that he had noticed a few weeks before that Harry had yet to find a use for.

 _Sectumsempra - for enemies,_ the Prince had written in the margin of one page, and Harry had debated for weeks about when (and upon whom) he should first try it.

Perhaps here in the Hunger Games, he had the perfect opportunity.

* * *

 **A/N: Sometimes my attention to detail really does get the better of me. I've just spent the last half an hour skimming through _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ to find the point where Harry first discovers the _Sectumsempra_ curse (turns out it's halfway down page 419 of the original UK hardback edition), just so that I can see where within the textbook it was written. Turns out it was written in the margin - where I had thought it was written in the first place...**

 **Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I'll be back with another chapter soon :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Once again, thanks to anyone who has favourited or followed this story, and special thanks go to sillymoose13, Joshua the Terminian GELSrandomgirl2 and algebraniac for reviewing!**

 **A couple of people have been asking if, when and how wands are going to be used in the Games. I don't want to explain exactly how wands are going to be involved just yet (all will become clear over the next four or five chapters), but I am going to say that wands will be used in the Games, fairly extensively by the end. So the lack of magic so far in the story doesn't mean there won't be any magic at all :)**

 **I'm convinced sillymoose13 is psychic... Asking for a scene with Draco and Johanna a chapter before I had planned to write one, and now this... Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading chapter six! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

The Ravenclaws were the first to arrive in the gymnasium the following morning for the second day of training. Six figures dressed in various garments of royal blue that immediately dispersed themselves around the vast training room. If there were any alliances forming among the members of that house, it wasn't obvious to the Gamemakers looking on as training began.

By the time Michael Corner had thrown his first set of six knives down the practice range at the throwing knives station, the Hufflepuff and Slytherin tributes had filed into the room. Not that he cared about any of them, anyway. Michael knew he was at least semi-competent with most of the weapons he had tried yesterday, which was more than could be said or most of the tributes from his house. He prided himself on his ability to adapt to the Hunger Games, this sudden and unwelcome challenge that had been thrown in front of him at a moment's notice. He'd been the first to see that friendships would mean nothing in the arena, where everyone would ultimately be fighting to protect themselves.

So while Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot were still nervously hanging on to the notion of an alliance between the Ravenclaw males, Michael had been quick to distance himself from the others.

And so Michael trained alone. He didn't need anybody's help.

 _Unless..._

Lavender Brown had now joined him at the throwing knives station, nervously taking advice from the expert at hand.

 _So the Gryffindors have finally bothered to show up,_ he thought to himself. _Better late than never, I guess._ Handing his remaining knives back to the nearest assistant, he turned around to scour the gymnasium for his current target.

* * *

Today, it hadn't been Harry who had been late, which had been a relief for him. Instead, he got to rub it in when Ron finally appeared just fifteen minutes before training was scheduled to begin.

 _What goes around, comes around,_ he thought with a grin.

Now the pair of them were busy at the swords station, which they had barely had any time to practice at the previous day. Only one step removed from his trusty daggers, Harry felt at ease using a light, one-handed short sword, while Ron had instantly grabbed the largest blade he could find; a large broadsword, which he gripped firmly with both hands as Harry watched him spar with one of the assistants. Harry wasn't sure whether his poise and accuracy with a smaller, lighter blade would be of more use in the Games than Ron's clumsy brute force, but if nothing else, it was good that they had different styles.

Taking a rest between attempts at fighting the helpful attendants at the swords station, Harry took a moment to look around the room, and spotted Michael Corner walking right towards him, his stride full of purpose.

"Harry!" Michael called out in a voice far more friendly and excited than Harry had hoped for. Harry couldn't explain to Michael the reason why the pair of them hadn't ever really gotten along all that well since their fifth year, but perhaps it was too much to think that the boy would just ignore him.

"Michael," Harry returned the greeting in a tone far less welcoming than the Ravenclaw's. However, if Michael noticed, he didn't let on.

"Great work you're doing here, Harry," he said, gesturing to the sword in Harry's hand. "Glad to see that you're well-prepared for the arena."

Noticing that Michael was making an effort to try and flatter him, Harry asked bluntly, "What do you want, Michael?"

Taken aback slightly, Michael began more modestly, "Well, you see, in order to do well in the arena, we're going to need to stick with others for a while, aren't we? Safety in numbers and all that. So I was going to ask if-"

"No," Harry cut him off, earning an indignant look from Michael. "I don't need your help, and I don't want you as an ally. I know who I can trust."

"Oh, did none of this Dumbledore's Army actually mean anything to you, then? Never mind actually protecting each other when we're in trouble, it was all just a way for you to show off how amazing you are, wasn't it?" It was a low blow, and both boys knew it.

"I don't remember you putting your name when Dumbledore's Army took the fight to the Ministry and captured a dozen Death Eaters last summer," Harry snapped back, raising his voice as Michael riled him up. He knew Michael was trying to pressure him into letting him into their alliance, but all that Harry was doing was causing a scene. He hated dealing with this sort of situation. What he needed was Hermione. She was so much better at calming people down than he was. However, when he scanned the room to help her, she was busy giving Neville advice at the edible plants station.

What Harry got instead was Ron.

"Oi, Corner, what do you want?" Ron said with a sneer than Malfoy would have been proud of. The animosity between the pair was well-known at Hogwarts, much for the same reason that Harry never quite got on with the Ravenclaw. The only difference was that Ron could get away with admitting it.

Sensing that the battle was lost, Michael started to back away slowly, his hands raised hesitantly.

"All right, all right, I get the message. I'm not wanted here," he said softly, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "I'll see you two in the arena."

And then he was gone.

"Ron," Harry sighed, turning to his best friend, who was wondering what exactly he had just walked into. "I think we just made ourselves an enemy."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Hufflepuff camp, things were progressing swimmingly.

The Hufflepuffs had decided early in training that as most victors had come from larger alliances, a united front would be the best approach to the Games. With a tactic championed by Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sophie Roper (and heavily supported by their mentors Peeta and Cecelia), the mood in the Hufflepuff camp was optimistic.

Standing alone at the weaponless combat station (it seemed that most of her year underestimated the power of their own bodies), Sophie Roper pulled herself to her feet after another brutal round of fighting with the expert who had been training her all morning. Pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow and forcing her sleek blond hair back into a tight ponytail, she took the opportunity to look around the gymnasium for her fellow allies. Most of them were busy working together at the survival skills station, with Ernie MacMillan demonstrating something to the others, who were giving him their complete attention. Justin, however, was alone at the spears station close to her, trying his hardest to build up his muscle memory with the weapon before being dropped into the arena in just a few days time.

They were a good group, Sophie thought, and a strong group, too. Certainly, others would hesitate to stand against them in the arena. Of course, individually, each member would be a target, but provided the group stayed together, they would be able to protect each other for mutual gain, just as so many successful alliances have in the past. Having been a part of such an alliance the previous year, Peeta had given Sophie more than enough advice on the matter for her to know what was needed of their little group. The only issue was that they lacked anyone with any real form of strength or power.

Indeed, Sophie concluded, the overall level of physical ability of her classmates was pitifully low. In Quidditch, the only competitive sport played at Hogwarts, sixth-years were routinely expected to make the house teams, but either nobody really cared, or their year simply weren't good enough. Sophie, in her first year playing Seeker, was the only sixth-year on the Hufflepuff team. Only two Gryffindors, Seeker Harry Potter and Keeper Ron Weasley had made their team, and no sixth-year Ravenclaws had played when Hufflepuff had beaten them the previous autumn. Only Slytherin had truly taken Quidditch seriously in their year, with four players on the team; Beaters Crabbe and Goyle, Chaser Zabini and Seeker Draco Malfoy. Even then, only two of the Slytherin players had been brought to the Capitol.

Of all the people in their year, the people you would expect to be the fittest and the strongest (the Beaters) had been left behind. Clearly these Games would be won by skill rather than strength. Not that Sophie was complaining; less major threats and the fragmentation of the other houses led to all the more chance of victory for Hufflepuff...

How exactly the Games would play out, she didn't know, but she knew how she needed to play the game to keep her fate in her own hands.

* * *

Having spent the morning cooling off after his confrontation with Michael Corner, Harry decided to take to the various obstacle courses and fitness stations along the back wall of the gymnasium. While relaying the morning's events to Hermione over lunch, Hermione had suggested that it would be a good idea for him to spend a couple of hours doing exercise to relax his mind, and so far he would have no issues with admitting he was enjoying himself.

Despite having been solitary for much of his time on the various obstacle courses, he had just raced Anthony Goldstein and Daphne Greengrass through the last one he attempted, and now being alone again, he hungered for competition, to prove to himself that he was better than the others.

That was when he spotted Malfoy a third of the way up the climbing wall that pillared upwards of fifty feet towards the high ceiling above. The Slytherin was making good progress up the wall (a real challenge for anyone but the strongest and most athletic), and Harry knew that the challenge was on before he'd taken a step towards the wall.

Ignoring the instructions from the assistants to put on a safety harness, Harry leapt up at the wall, reaching immediately upwards for the next hand-hold and began to climb. The climbing wall was scaled in difficulty; the further Harry climbed, the more treacherous the wall became, with hand-holds and footholds becoming increasingly sparse, and at more and more awkward angles from each other. Still, Harry had no issues scaling the first twenty feet, unfazed by his lack of safety harness; the green blob of Malfoy in his peripheral vision above was his only concern.

Having picked a starting position close to Malfoy to make it clear he was racing him to the top, Harry was only ten feet beneath Malfoy when the Slytherin finally noticed his presence, and Malfoy scrambled to put on an extra burst of speed as he approached a dangerous overhang just a few feet from the roof of the gymnasium. The overhang was especially dangerous as it meant it was impossible to lean against the wall for balance; the wall was above Malfoy, and had his feet have slipped he would be hanging from his arms alone, fifty feet in the air.

Both boys were of similar thin, athletic builds, with Harry being slightly lighter and quicker, Malfoy slightly stronger but with a couple of inches more reach. Ultimately the reach was what slowed Harry's progress, but by the time he reached the overhang Malfoy was still struggling to pull himself over to the top of the wall.

Suddenly Harry was acutely aware of just how high up he was, the entire room sprawled out beneath him, the figures at the far end too small to recognised, the compact crash mats just a blue dot somewhere beneath his feet.

And he had no safety harnesses.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy taunted him with a grin, happily removing both feet from the climbing wall to hang from just one arm, all of his weight suspended by the grip in his left hand.

"You wish," Harry replied, steeling himself and pulling himself out onto the overhang, trying not to show his nerves. His clothes clung to his stomach and his hair fell backwards away from his face as every part of him wanted to fly towards the ground, but he hung on tight, his knuckles turning white with the effort. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself round to be parallel with Malfoy, just a few feet from the top of the wall.

Suddenly Malfoy had a vice-like grip on his right forearm, grabbing it intensely just a few inches below the wrist, shaking it intensely, prising Harry's hand away from the climbing wall. Completely stunned, Harry felt his feet slip from his footholds as panic coursed through him.

"Don't panic, Potter!" Malfoy laughed as he let go of Harry's wrist, letting him fall into the same one-handed hold Malfoy had taunted him with just moments before. Feet kicking wildly, his right hand scrabbling for a purchase on the wall, it took all of Harry's will not to look down as he desperately searched for a hand-hold.

Eventually his hand found a purchase; soft, slightly sweaty skin, and Harry found himself being heaved upwards. It was Malfoy, who had successfully negotiated the overhang, and was now reaching down to pull him to safety. It took two hands for Malfoy to get Harry up into a seated position atop the wall beside him, way over fifty feet above the gymnasium floor.

"I guess someone had to save you," Malfoy grinned, looking as though Slytherin had just won the House Cup. As though he'd scored some sort of victory. Harry didn't want to admit it, but deep down he knew that he would have fell, had it not been for Malfoy.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "You wouldn't get half way without a harness. You'd get too scared and cry your way back down."

The victorious grin faded from Malfoy's face to be replaced by a much darker expression. "You think so, Potter? Well then, how are you going to get back down, with nobody to help you and no protection from the fall?"

And then, laughing coldly, Malfoy jumped from the top of the climbing wall, the safety harness breaking his fall fifteen feet from the ground as he was slowly lowered back down to safety, leaving Harry beaten and alone at the top of the wall, feeling very much second-best once again.

* * *

It had taken Harry over an hour to tentatively make his way back down to the floor again, and by then the second day of training was almost over.

"What a complete prat," Ron muttered as Harry relayed his perspective to Ron as they rode the elevator back to their floor after training. "Didn't he know what he was doing? You could have been killed!"

"I think that was the point, Ron," Harry replied, far less confidently that he had hoped to sound. The incident had really shaken him up. He looked across at Hermione to see what she made of the matter, but she didn't need to say anything. She just looked furious.

When they returned to their floor to find dinner already prepared and waiting for them in the dining room, Harry was surprised to find only Katniss waiting for her tributes.

"Where's Finnick?" Ron asked, gesturing to the empty seat at the table.

Katniss shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I'm not sure, but he's away tonight. I'm sure you'll all get a chance to speak to him later this evening."

"Today's just getting better and better, Hermione, don't you think?" Ron asked, nudging her. "First we get in an argument with Corner, then Malfoy almost kills Harry and now Finnick's abandoned us-"

He would have carried on, but the glare Hermione was giving him was enough for him to hold his tongue.

That evening, the atmosphere across the dinner table was tense. Barely anyone said a word, and despite several attempts from Ron to make jokes at his own expense, to mood didn't get any lighter until the meal was over. Excusing herself at the first possible opportunity, Hermione disappeared from the table almost before anyone had noticed she was gone. It was the first time she had spoken since the end of training.

"What's up with her?" Ron had asked Harry, who gave a shrug as an answer, his expression vacant. His mind was still hanging fifty feet in the air, hanging on to the wall by his fingertips.

"Better go and see what the matter is," Ron had muttered as he stood up from the table, striding down the corridor towards Hermione's bedroom. Now Harry was left alone with Katniss at the dinner table.

"Harry, what's the matter with everyone today?" Katniss finally asked him, her voice filled with concern.

Harry sighed. "It's been a long day," he said tiredly, and proceeded to tell Katniss everything that had happened in the gymnasium that day. As Harry had expected, when he told her about the incident with Malfoy, Katniss didn't look pleased.

"Technically, what he has done hasn't broken any rules," Katniss mused. "But he'll have made himself a lot of enemies, not only among the tributes, but among the Gamemakers watching, too."

"Why would the Gamemakers care?"

"It means he's dangerous," she said quietly. "Bending the rules at this stage is going to mean more trouble further down the line, I'm sure. In the arena, the Gamemakers would be dancing around in excitement at the prospect of such a scene, but here in the Capitol, the Gamemakers are expected to have total control over all of the tributes. Now the Gamemakers know he's a troublemaker, they'll be keeping a close eye on him tomorrow morning, that's for sure."

"He needs taking down a notch," Harry muttered, fed up with how Malfoy has been allowed to get away with so much over the years. "He needs someone to show him that they are better than him. Let's see how he copes once he knows he's not the only one who can play dirty."

Katniss wanted to ask what Harry was implying, but before she could, Ron came running back into the room, and when he spoke, his voice was fast and panicked.

"Something's up with Hermione," he said, pausing to grab a drink from the table, which he gulped down hurriedly. "She's shut herself in her room and won't come out. I've tried speaking to her but she just yells at me and tells me to leave her alone." Ron had been waving his arms around while speaking, desperately searching for something for them do to, and had ended up tapping the table in an irregular pattern. He looked distraught. "All I can hear is her crying, and the sound of stuff breaking-" Ron paused for a moment as a particularly dangerous thud echoed down the corridor.

"Look, Harry, something's snapped with Hermione, and she just won't listen to me. I've tried, but nothing I say calms her down." Ron was now pacing about the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was visibly agitated, frustration and anger threatening to boil over, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Please help her, either of you."

Harry was on his feet in an instant, walking out of the door towards Hermione's room before even Ron had a chance to follow him. Of course he would go and help Hermione.

However, as he approached her bedroom door, there was only one thought on his mind.

 _If Hermione's panicking, what are the rest of us going to do?_

* * *

 **A/N: I know I've left this on a bit of a cliff-hanger, but this chapter really was getting very long, and so I've saved the final scene from it for the start of chapter seven in order to keep chapter lengths (fairly) consistent.**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, with its insights into the tributes from other houses and all. If you did enjoy it, please review! As ever, any constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **P.S. I think from now on you can expect updates to come once every two or three days. Each chapter (including all of my research time) takes about four or five hours to write, so while it is feasible for updates to be once a day, it's unlikely to be consistent that way, so I'll probably just wait two days between updates to make update times more regular. If everyone is OK with that, of course :)**

 **I'll be back with chapter seven shortly :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to anyone who has favourited or followed this story so far, and special thanks go to Joshua the Terminian, sillymoose13, Girl-HP-For-Kids and PeridotPi for reviewing!**

 **I know this chapter has taken a while to write, but it is longer than most, and I've had a busy weekend for a variety of reasons. Maybe just because I'm done with school, assuming I have a lot of free time on my hands is a bad thing to do...**

 **This is by far the longest chapter in the story yet, and possibly the one with the least Harry in it so far...**

 **I feel that I should also apologise that, in a hurry to get the chapter posted today, I haven't had the time to proofread it before posting, so can you guys please let me know if there are any mistakes in it so I can correct them? Thanks!**

 **Well, even if it is a little later than planned, here's chapter seven. I hope that you all like reading it :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

Even before Harry reached the end of the corridor, he could hear Hermione's muffled sobs through the wooden door, punctuated every so often with dangerous shattering sounds.

Concerned, Harry decided the best thing to do would be to take things slowly.

"Hermione?" he asked, knocking softly on the door as he arrived, calling more loudly when it was clear she hadn't heard him. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Harry!" She cried, shocked at hearing someone other than Ron's voice, and for a moment everything within her room fell to silence. And then, after a sigh, "I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?"

"This. The Games. Everything."

"Hermione, can I come in?" Another pause. Then a sigh.

"All right," she eventually concedes, and Harry hears her slowly walk towards the door, and then the clunk as she unlocks it.

Then the door swings open, and seems to Harry as though part of him breaks when he sees the chaos beyond the doorway. The room, which is modestly sized and in all ways identical to Harry's own, is in a state of complete disarray. The bedsheets lie sprawled across the back of the room near the window, the chest of drawers battered and bruised, its contents flung about randomly. The curtains have been ripped from the window, and entire shelves have been cleared, their contents dumped on the floor or thrown about carelessly. Beneath Harry's feet, the floor seemed to be coated with ripped fabric and broken glass. Through the open door into the bathroom Harry could see little, but hear the running water filling the silence that otherwise enveloped the sorry scene.

And at the centre of it all there was Hermione, the architect of the destruction around her, her hair matted and hanging across her face in an attempt to conceal the tears streaming from her wide brown eyes. She was flushed, and her body trembled, as though she wanted to appear on top of things, but couldn't. Harry couldn't help noticing her hands, cut and bloodied from broken glass.

"What's been going on here?" Harry asked, walking into the room, carefully examining Hermione's hands.

"I just don't want to do this anymore," Hermione whispered to him, shrugging him off and turning to stare blankly out the window. "I don't want to be here, waking up every day knowing that I'm one day closer to my death, and the death of everyone I love. I don't want to go down to the gymnasium tomorrow and see how much bigger and stronger everyone else is, because it terrifies me. I'm tiny, and I can't hold a weapon well, loads of people will target me, because they think being clever actually means something in there." She paused for a moment, coughed quietly, and then added bitterly, "The only thing that matters in the arena is how much people love you."

"Sadly, I don't think there's much we can do about that," Harry said grimly, moving to stand beside Hermione at the window, looking out onto the bright lights of the city.

"Yeah," Hermione shrugged, laughing shakily, and for a moment the pair of Gryffindors stood beside each other, isolated and alone among the bustling city, each secluded within their thoughts.

"I never really realised how serious this was going to become," Hermione eventually whispered, roughly wiping the tears from her chin. "I mean, I knew what was going to happen to us, but I didn't really _understand_. Not until today, anyway."

"What changed today, then?" Harry asked.

"Harry, you _almost died_ today!" Hermione cried, appalled by the memory, desperately trying to fight on to this moment of calm, clenching and unclenching her fists and eventually clinging onto Harry's arm as though for dear life in order to keep her sanity. Taking deep, raggedy breaths, she slowly continued. "I don't know why, but when I saw Malfoy almost throw you from that wall, something inside me broke. Everything suddenly became more real. That in the next week, I'm either going lose you, or lose Ron, or lose someone else I care about, and there'll be nothing I can do because I'll be too busy trying to keep myself and whoever else is still with me alive to even care what else is going on. If these Games go on long enough, there'll be no room for anything inside my head except anxiety, paranoia and complete terror."

Hermione stopped, trying to offer Harry a wry smile, to do anything to lighten the mood, but all she managed to do was show him just how hurt she was.

"I don't know what's going to be worse," Hermione said shakily. "Feeling the pain as everyone around me dies, or losing myself to the frenzy of the arena. It's going to be absolutely awful, Harry, all those people we know who - oh, Harry - I just don't want to lose you. Or anyone else. It's enough to drive me insane."

Then Hermione slipped back into despair, but Harry did nothing as she cried into his shoulder but let her. He didn't know how long they stood there together in silence, illuminated by the moonlight, their misery amplified by the ruins of Hermione's room surrounding them, but to Harry it didn't matter. There was nothing else to be said, nothing else to be done, except to be paraded slowly towards their doom.

There was nothing else be spoken because Harry had agreed with everyone word that Hermione said.

* * *

Katniss was the first to wake the next morning; the morning of the final day of training. If nothing else, she appreciated the luxuries of the Capitol during her stay, and she made sure to grab a mug of hot chocolate as soon as she was out of her room, allowing a nearby Avox to assist her. She still felt uneasy around them, but things had improved since the Capitol had provided her with a different batch of Avoxes this year.

She didn't know what she would do if she had to spend any more time with that poor red-headed girl who looked over her last year.

As usual, she was up with the dawn, an unavoidable side-effect of her hunting lifestyle back home in District 12. Finding herself the best seat in the sitting room, she snuggled up at the end of a plush sofa, turning on the television, keeping her mug cupped between her hands as the news station began the broadcast:

"News just in is that former Hunger Games victor and notorious womaniser Finnick Odair was spotted last night escorting wealthy fashion designer Veronica Hall to her luxurious apartment near-"

Sighing, Katniss switched the channels, but found little else on apart from the constant hype for the upcoming Hunger Games. Everything on the television seemed focused on the upcoming event, the highlight of the Capitol summer.

Turning off the television in frustration, she finished her drink in silence, but it wasn't long before she had some company.

"Hermione!" Katniss said, surprised. "Are you struggling to sleep? It's only six in the morning." After seeing the young Gryffindor shrug, she added, "Are you feeling any better yet?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," Hermione sighed, taking a seat at the other end of the sofa to her mentor. "It's just hard to adjust to everything."

"It's not easy to get used to the panic," Katniss admitted. "But copes. Everyone finds a way of holding it together. Having been through the whole thing, I should know," she added with a smile.

"Maybe," Hermione shrugged. "I'm sure it's easy if you volunteer for the Games. I bet if you know you're going to be involved in the Games, you're more prepared for the terror."

Katniss laughed slightly at that. "Volunteering isn't all you would think it is," she said.

"How would you know?" Hermione said. "Nobody from Twelve ever does."

"Just because volunteers from Twelve are a dying breed doesn't mean I didn't volunteer."

"You did?" Hermione said incredulously. _The Hunger Games: A History_ had told her that there hadn't been a volunteer from District 12 since before the Second Quarter Quell.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I wanted to, or that I was ready for it."

"Then why-"

"It was my sister," Katniss said quietly, her expression turning sour as though she was trying to drive away the bad memories. "She was only twelve. I couldn't let them take her."

"But that's awful," Hermione said, genuinely horrified. "I'm so sorry," she added, tenderly resting her hand on the back of Katniss'.

"Don't worry about it," the victor replied. "I've had a year to get used to it. You're the one we should be worrying about, remember?"

"Sadly, I doubt I'll ever forget it," Hermione sighed.

"No," Katniss said, genuinely moved to help the girl in front of her. "But you'll cope. I'm sure of it. You're a good girl, Hermione. Talented, too. You'll find a way to adapt."

"I hope you're right," Hermione said, and after that the two girls said little else until the other Gryffindors arrived and breakfast was served, with Finnick still nowhere to be seen.

For the second time, Katniss had to take the lead and address the group alone.

"Today is the final day of training," she began once everyone had their food and had taken a seat at the table. "As such, training continues as normal this morning, but this afternoon the Gamemakers view each of you in private sessions to evaluate your potential for the Games. Usually, the session consists of fifteen minutes, in which you can do anything within the gymnasium to impress the Gamemakers, and then you will be scored. The scale runs from one, which is irredeemably bad, to twelve, which is unattainably high."

"Has anyone ever gotten a one before?" Neville asked nervously.

"No," Katniss replied. "And neither has anyone ever scored a twelve."

"What did you get?" Lavender asked Katniss.

"I scored an eleven," the victor replied with a small smile.

"So basically whoever gets the best score wins?" Ron asked.

"Not necessarily," Katniss said, taking a pause to sip her drink. "I got lucky. Often high-scoring tributes get taken out early in the Games, because of factors beyond their control. For instance, no matter how strong someone is, if the arena is water-based and they can't swim, they won't last very long at all, will they?"

"I suppose not," Ron said. "I'm not sure whether that thought makes me more or less nervous, though."

"What happens if we completely blow it in our private session?" Harry asked, speaking up for the first time that meal. "Are we completely scuppered then?"

"Yes and no," Katniss replied. "The Gamemakers have been watching you for the last two days, so they know roughly how good you are already. What they want to know is how well you perform under pressure. How likely you are to get out of a bad situation if you only have one knife to throw, that sort of thing. So the last two days do matter, but scoring is heavily biased towards this afternoon. I think that's why I scored so highly," she added as an afterthought.

"Why?" Harry asked. "What did you do differently?"

"That's a story for another time," Katniss replied with a small smile. "I shouldn't be asking you to copy what I did. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll tell you all this evening."

"You mentioned earlier that things are going to be a little different this afternoon," Hermione said, after the conversation momentarily fell quiet around the table.

"Yes, I did," Katniss smiled. "Good news, people. Instead of the standard fifteen-minute session, you will be given twenty minutes in front of the Gamemakers this afternoon. The first ten minutes will be the same as in previous years, but for the second ten minutes, you'll be given your wands back." Katniss paused for a moment, letting that sink in around the table. "You'll finally get a chance to prove to them exactly what tricks you have up your sleeve."

* * *

The morning's training passed by almost instantly, such was the excitement for the afternoon's sessions. If nothing else, they were all getting their wands back. If only just a few minutes, they would be able to scratch the itch, satisfy the urge within them to let loose with just a little magic.

"I can't wait," Ron said, cramming in three rolls at once at the lunch table.

"Eating again?" Hermione said, rolling her eyes at him once again. The spring was back in her step, and it was something that neither Harry nor Ron could quite appreciate enough.

"Well, it is lunchtime," Ron argued, but Hermione had already moved on to other things.

"What are you two going to do in your private session?" She asked her two best friends. "I've been trying to decide all morning."

"Well, archery would be a good place to start," Harry suggested.

"Oh, I know what I'm doing for that half," Hermione said. "I just don't know what magic I should show them."

"Really?" Ron said. "Of all people, you're worried about what magic to perform? You can do so much more than we can!"

"I think that's the problem," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I just can't decide what would be best. The issue is that the Gamemakers don't know which spells require more skill to perform. They just want to see something impressive. We all know that Conjuration is harder to perform than a Summoning Charm, but will the Gamemakers see it that way?"

"I'd never even considered that," Ron admitted. "Now I'm not sure what to do either..."

"See?" Hermione said. "Just be grateful that I brought it up."

"Don't you worry yourself about it, I am already," Ron said quickly, his mind elsewhere as he tried to come up with a strategy.

"We're lucky he's the one struggling," Harry told Hermione. "He's the last of us to go in."

"That's true," Hermione admitted. "He'll be fine, though. Won't you, Ron?"

"Yeah, whatever, just give me a minute, OK? I'm trying to think..."

* * *

By the time Hermione was summoned, only the second person to enter the gymnasium that afternoon, she had her whole session planned out meticulously.

Walking into the room confidently, her unruly hair tied back firmly in an efficient ponytail, she couldn't help glancing up towards the twenty-four purple-robed Gamemakers, who were now paying her more attention than ever. She was lucky, she thought, to be in front of the Gamemakers so early in the afternoon. Now, more than ever, would be a good time to make an impression, before she was just one of many.

Immediately Hermione walked over to the archery station, where she had spent most of the morning practicing, getting a real feel for the weapons, making sure she knew exactly how to do what she hoped to achieve; a perfect shooting, everyone one of the twelve arrows in her first quiver finding the bulls-eye of the most distant archery target.

In the end, nerves somewhat got the better of her with her early arrows, but eleven of the twelve arrows hit the furthest target, seven of which were very close to the centre. Smiling with satisfaction, Hermione turned her attention to other targets around the room, trying to show her strength by aiming for targets at much greater distance than the Gamemakers had anticipated, including the training dummies at various weapons stations around the room. With varying success, she managed to hit some of the more distant targets, including a very flattering shot to a dummy at the far end of the room, where the arrow sunk into its eye.

Smiling with pride at her work, Hermione then turned her attention to the most risk-free part of her pre-planned routine; the edible plants station, where she would show her newly-learnt survival skills by sorting all of the plants shown into safe and unsafe groups, and then explaining how to prepare each of the edible plants for consumption. Being only a memory task, she found it easy work, and was pleased to see the impressed looks on the faces of the Gamemakers as she finished. She doubted that many tributes would have attempted the edible plants station in these sessions. She had hoped to make herself stand out.

"Thank-you, Miss Granger," a Gamemaker called down neutrally from their viewing platform as Hermione completed this task. "That will be enough." Then Seneca Crane got to his feet and walked down into the gymnasium towards a smiling Hermione, a small wooden case tucked under his left arm.

"Right then, Granger, let me see..." Crane pondered as he opened the case, revealing the wooden tips of all the students' wands. Having studied magic diligently since he first heard of its 'discovery' a month before, the Head Gamemaker was more excited than anyone to see what the young witch was capable of. "Here we are... Ten and three-quarter inches, vine wood, dragon heartstring... I believe this is yours," Crane said with a smile, presenting Hermione's wand to her.

Suddenly her wand was back in her hand, and - oh, the relief! She hadn't realised just how much she had missed her wand until she had it back. Grinning madly, she had barely managed to contain herself until she was given the go-ahead:

"You may begin."

Hermione knew exactly what she was going to do, and began by running through a group of staple spells that would get her out of a tight spot in the arena, including the Summoning Charm, the Levitation Charm, the ever-useful Reductor curse, and a variety of other useful tricks. Sadly, she soon found that most of what she wanted to show the Gamemakers con would be impossible without a living target.

That was when she decided to turn things up a notch, conjuring a wide variety of animals (an incredibly complex feat for any Hogwarts sixth-year in itself) and inflicting them to every offensive and defensive spell she could think of. She had hesitated for a moment at first, not wanting to Stun the dog she had conjured in front of her, but putting on a brave face and telling herself to get over it, she quickly made it through all of the moves Harry had taught the D.A. the previous year. Truth be told, she was enjoying herself, and despite her disposition towards common jinxes (as a prefect, it was her job to object to them at Hogwarts), she even treated herself to a couple of her favourites before leading into her carefully planned finale.

Returning to the centre of the gymnasium close to the Gamemakers, Hermione took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself before she began.

" _Avis_ ," she muttered, conjuring the first of a flock of small birds that danced in the around her, filling the grim emptiness of the gymnasium with the joys of birdsong. Eventually she had the desired number, and she let the birds free to fly around the room, eventually dancing all around the Gamemakers as Hermione conjured fireworks to complete the effect she had been going for; a whirlwind of sound and colour, a rare scene of joy amid the dark nature of the Games.

And at the centre of it all, Hermione stood marvelling at her own creation, almost laughing with joy, ready to add the final touch to her work.

" _Expecto Patronum,_ " she smiled, and suddenly her silver otter was weaving its way through the colour, the final touch on what was certainly an impressive piece of magic. Having such high standards, it took a lot for Hermione to be impressed with her own work, but she certainly was here.

Eventually the Gamemakers dismissed her and, after reluctantly returning her wand to her Capitol captors, Hermione left the gymnasium in high spirits. If little else, her impressive display of pretty shapes and bright colours would make sure that the Gamemakers would remember her.

* * *

By the time Draco Malfoy stalked into the gymnasium seven hours later, the Gamemakers had seen it all, and half of them didn't even turn their heads as the young Slytherin strode into the room. He barely even acknowledged Seneca Crane telling him that he may begin as he copied the preferred tactic of almost every tribute, and headed straight to his favourite weapons station.

For Draco, it had always been about swords from the first minute of the first day of training. His father had often told him that the sword was the only Muggle weapon that actually meant anything. The one thing that the uncivilised, backwards Muggles actually managed to get right. That swords were a weapon preferred by the wealthy and the powerful; it was as much a symbol of class for Muggles as it was for wizards. For several years, his father had even pair for a private tutor to teach a young Draco the art of fencing.

Combining years of well-practiced skill and a Seeker's speed and agility, it was no wonder he made such light work of the swords station. Armed with a blade of his choice, it only took him a few short minutes to clean house, defeating everything the Gamemakers had left him to be challenged with.

Looking up at the end of his impressive showing, sweat dripping from his brow as he tried to catch his breath, he noticed a group of Gamemakers looking on intently, but others clearly bored by his work. How dare they not show him the respect he deserved! He was better than each and every one of them... Let them come down here and fight him, see how well they fared with a blade at their throats...

Fuming and momentarily stuck, unsure where to go, Draco decided to try and prove his fitness to the Gamemakers; to do anything to prove he was a serious threat, that a Malfoy demanded the attention of every other person in the room, as he rightfully did. They were being paid to watch him, after all. So Draco ran to the longest and most challenging obstacle course in the room, and, still trying to catch his breath, set off along it.

Still livid, he was making swift progress, constantly glancing up at the Gamemakers to make sure he had their attention, when he was suddenly stopped and told that his time was up.

Cursing under his breath and glaring at the man who came down to meet him, Draco was furious at being bossed about by these people. Forced to stand in a room where their role was to watch him and be impressed by his ability, he suddenly felt humiliated. Especially seeing the curious look thrown in his direction by the Gamemaker now coming down to meet him, carrying a small case under his left arm.

How _dare they_ sit up there and examine him, like some sort of caged animal in a zoo! Why should he bother showing them anything? They weren't worthy of his magic! They were just Muggles, filthy _Muggles_ , who had seen a glimpse into his world and now wanted to poke sticks at him and make him perform like some sort of circus monkey!

The warm, energetic smile on the face of the man who was rifling through the case in front of him only enraged Draco further as a heat built within him, forcing him to roll up his deep green sleeves for the first time in almost a year, for once revealing the Dark Mark branded against the skin of his left forearm to the elements. Somehow seeing the Death Eaters' mark on his skin enraged him further, leaving him completely _seething_ as he felt his wand pressed into the soft skin in the palm of his right hand.

Suddenly everything, his anger at the Gamemakers, the frustration and humiliation of being forced to obey them, the panic of a year working beneath the Dark Lord and the terror that had been building for months suddenly came to a head.

" _Impedimenta!_ "

Seneca Crane hadn't even packed up his case before his was blasted off his feet and flung backwards through the air, landing against the wall behind him with a sickening crack. Stars shot in front of his eyes as he crumpled and fell to the floor, landing in a heap amid gasps of shock and anger from his fellow Gamemakers above him. And then, coughing as he brought himself up to his knees, he focused on the purposeful figure of Draco Malfoy striding towards him.

Draco has snapped, fury coursing through his veins as he strode towards the stricken Gamemaker, his chest heaving in anger, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, his face contorted in rage as he cried:

" _Crucio!_ "

* * *

 **A/N: I had originally written Harry's private session for this chapter, but so much was going on and the chapter was getting so long, I decided to cut it. I hope you all don't mind the omission too much...**

 **Anyways, so much happened in this once, I'm sure a lot of you have something to say about it, so please feel free to review! As ever, I'll welcome constructive criticism :)**

 **Hopefully the next update will come a little faster than this one :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to anyone who has favourited or followed this story, and special thanks go to PeridotPi and ProditorMagnus for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **I'm so sorry about how long you've all had to wait for this chapter! I've been on holiday for the past week and didn't know I wouldn't have any internet connection all week until I had left, so I've been left unable to do anything for a while... Still, I'm back now! :)**

 **I've decided that, following his contributions to previous chapters, Draco Malfoy deserves main character status along with Harry, Ron and Hermione, so I've made that change to the story info.**

 **I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

Watching the city zoom away beneath him as he rode the elevator back to his floor, Harry felt more relaxed than he had since his arrival in the Capitol. He wouldn't hold a weapon again until the arena.

The last twenty minutes had done a lot for his confidence, having had a near-flawless showing in front of the Gamemakers. Maybe he hadn't got the most promise of all the tributes, but he'd shown all of his potential. And for those ten minutes with his wand back... He had almost forgotten all of his worries. It was incredible how much security one object could provide him with, but that always seemed to be the way with wizards. Dependent on their wands for almost everything.

The first half of the session had been slightly more ropey than the defensive (and offensive) masterclass he had put on in during the ten minutes he had been allowed with his wand. Despite Hermione's fretting, it had never been that difficult for Harry to choose what to show the Gamemakers. Every aspect of duelling he had picked up through his battles over the past few years.

Prior to being given his wand, he'd done the safe thing and shown the Gamemakers his skill with knives, and then wandered from station to station, showing them he knew a little of everything until he was stopped.

Perhaps it could have gone a little more smoothly, but it certainly could have been a lot worse.

Stepping out of the elevator onto his floor, he found the other Gryffindors (minus Ron, who was currently in the gymnasium, midway through his own session) in the sitting room. Hermione was, as usual, engrossed in _The Hunger Games: A History_. Lavender and Parvati were talking in hushed tones in the corner, looking slightly concerned. Neville was talking worriedly to Katniss.

Finnick, who had recently returned to the Training Centre, was the only person with nothing to do, and he looked up the moment Harry walked into the room.

"So, how was it?" Finnick asked.

"Good," Harry said. "It went well."

"What magic did you show them?" Hermione said, looking up from her book at the sound of Harry's voice.

"What you'd expect," Harry smiled. "Stunning, disarming, a variety of jinxes and hexes, my Patronus Charm... That sort of thing."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Didn't you bother with anything other than defensive magic? No charms or conjurations or anything like that? I made sure to show them that there was a lot more to magic than just attacking people."

"No, I didn't," Harry said bitterly, annoyed at himself for not thinking of that. Of course the Gamemakers would be impressed by more than just how well he could fight! Any magic that could help him survive (even something like _Aguamenti_ would be held in high regard by the Gamemakers) would boost his score a long way. And instead all he had focused on was how well he could defend himself. He showed no interest in the survival stations, and gave no indication as to how a wand would help him survive in the arena.

"It could have been worse," Hermione shrugged. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see what the Gamemakers have to say."

"How much do survival skills alter your scores in training?" Harry asked Finnick.

"Most people with high scores get showered with gifts from sponsors if they can survive more than a couple of days," Finnick replied. "So really, the Gamemakers don't take much notice to survival skills if you're able to fight. If you're useless with everything, then showing you can at least find safe food to eat means a lot. If you two feel you have a good grip of the weapons, however, I doubt it really matters."

"Oh, good," Harry says, his momentary panic now alleviated.

Nothing more was said on the subject until Ron strolled in twenty minutes, which felt like deja vu to Harry, having to live through the same conversation again. He wondered how Lavender must be finding things; she'd been the first back...

"I suppose it went OK," Ron shrugged. "I just did a bit of everything until they told me I could leave."

"Well, providing at least some of them weren't terrible, your score should be at least half-decent, then," Katniss said encouragingly.

Frustratingly for the Gryffindors, the private sessions had been organised by house, and they had to wait for the other three houses to finish their private sessions, a process that would take up all of the afternoon, with the scored being announced on television that evening after dinner. Although nobody spoke about their sessions after Ron's arrival, anxiety began to take hold, and by the time Harry was sat at the dinner table, he didn't care whether or not he had a good score, just that the wait was over.

Thankfully, there wasn't much longer to wait, and he soon found himself wedged between Neville and Hermione on a sofa in the sitting room, listening patiently as the broadcast began.

The announcement of the scores was, as always, presented by two familiar faces of the Hunger Games, Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman. Templesmith was well-known as the announcer in the arena and lead commentator for the Games; the more conservatively dressed of the two, he wore a black tuxedo as he sat in the broadcast booth. His colleague, Caesar Flickerman, was dressed in somewhat louder attire, a shiny midnight blue suit that constantly sparkled, his face was covered in white makeup, and accentuated with orange eyeliner and lipstick, the exact same colour as his wild hair.

"What's up with his hair?" Ron said, barely containing a laugh, getting a sharp look from Marie, who was standing nearby.

"It's the same thing he does every year," Hermione told him. "Each year, he wears the same thing, but changes his hair colour, right?"

Katniss nodded. "It was powder blue last year."

"Lucky," Finnick smirked. "My year, it was hot pink."

"Anyway, shall we listen to what he's saying?" Hermione asked, and Finnick turned up the volume of the television just in time to hear Claudius Templesmith make an important announcement.

"Usually, each tribute is given a score from one to twelve, indicating their potential for the arena," the presenter began. "But this year, each tribute will be given two scores; one representing their physical ability, and the second representing their magical ability."

"Interesting," Finnick said, nodding thoughtfully. "I wondered how they were going to combine the two elements. I suppose by keeping them separate, we get more information."

"So, without further ado, on to the scores!" Caesar announced excitedly. "And we begin with Miss Lavender Brown of Gryffindor..." A picture of Lavender appeared on the screen beside the presenter. "And after careful consideration, the Gamemakers have chosen to award Lavender a score of five for her physical potential, and a score of six for her magic." Lavender, who had been worried that her score was going to terrible, was pleased to have at least managed an average score, and polite applause swept across the room as the two numbers showed up beneath Lavender's picture on the screen.

If that had warranted applause, the next one certainly did, as Hermione's score of seven-eleven almost brought the roof down.

"Brilliant, Hermione!" Ron cheered, as Finnick gave her an encouraging pat on the back and Harry applauded enthusiastically next to her.

"I always knew you'd do fine," Katniss smiled at her, and Hermione blushed slightly, looking down at her knees, her bushy hair hiding her face.

"How often do people score elevens? They're fairly uncommon, right?" Parvati asked.

"On average, there's one every two or three years. There's usually a couple of tens, maybe an eleven. I doubt anyone will raise a candle to her score this year," Finnick said, making Hermione blush even more.

Then came Parvati and Neville, whose scores while not being awful clearly weren't going to set the world alight.

"Does it matter that I only got a five and a four?" Neville asked nervously.

"Not at all," Finnick replied. "As long as your score wasn't atrociously low, which it wasn't, nobody's going to pay much attention unless your score was really high," he added, glancing at Hermione again, who gave him a small smile.

"Next is Harry Potter," Claudius Templesmith announced, and Harry found himself leaning forward in his chair nervously. Not that he had anything to worry about. He scored nines for both physical and magical ability.

"Good job," Ron said convincingly. "The sponsors are going to love us, aren't they?" He asked the victors, and they both nodded.

The last of the Gryffindors to be scored was Ron, who scored seven-eight.

"Excellent!" Harry said. "Looks like we're all well above average," he said to Ron and Hermione.

"Yeah," Ron said, sounding disappointed. "I'd have hoped for a couple of points higher, but I suppose it's good enough."

"I guess the difference between your score and Harry's is an example of the phrase 'jack of all trades, master of none,'" Hermione suggested.

"I suppose," Ron thought. "Maybe you're right."

After that, the scores seemed to pass by so quickly that Harry found he could barely keep up with who had scored what. Hufflepuff seemed to pass by in a blur, a jumble of mediocre scores occasionally punctuated by a seven or an eight, a trend that continued on into Ravenclaw. Only Justin Finch-Fletchley seemed to stand out of the Hufflepuffs, and Harry couldn't help noticing that Michael Corner, who he had been keeping an eye on since their disagreement the previous morning, bagged two sevens for himself, marking him as the best of the Ravenclaws.

Finally, it was the turn of Slytherin house to be scored, beginning with the girls, whose scores were nothing special.

"Now, the first of the Slytherin males, Draco Malfoy," Caesar Flickerman announced, and Harry and Ron sat up in anticipation.

"Let's hope he scores low, the sly git," Ron muttered.

"I'll second that," Harry said, and Hermione nodded beside him.

As with every tribute, Caesar was given the score on a sheet of paper within an envelope, and read out the scores as he found them out himself. "And young Draco has himself a score of nine for physical promise, and - oh my, I can't believe I'm saying this, folks - a score of _twelve_ for magical ability."

" _TWELVE!_ " Finnick exclaimed, jumping out of his seat in shock. Katniss was speechless.

"What the bloody hell did he show the Gamemakers to beat our Hermione?" Ron said, fuming beside him.

"That's rare, right?" Neville asked.

"That's the first twelve in seventy-five years," Katniss whispered, awe-struck.

Harry just said in his seat, wondering how Malfoy had managed to force that one out of the Gamemakers. He was desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some sort of reason why... He didn't want Malfoy to have something over him and not know what it was.

And then, all of a sudden, it hit him.

" _Four words, Potter,_ " Malfoy had told him when they spoke before the opening ceremonies. "Crucio. Imperio. Avada Kedavra. _Nobody here knows these spells, Potter, never mind care what they do_."

"Malfoy must have shown them the Unforgivable Curses," Harry said, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Harry, for the last time, Malfoy's not some sort of Death Eater!" Hermione said, fighting what had only been a losing battle for the past six months. Harry was convinced that Malfoy had been plotting something at Hogwarts, and he knew Snape was backing him.

"Who cares if he's a Death Eater or not, Hermione! He doesn't have to support Voldemort to use dark curses! Plenty of other wizards have used Unforgivables in the past!"

"Hermione, I hate to say it, but the Cruciatus curse is _exactly_ the sort of thing that the Gamemakers would give full marks for," Ron admitted.

"Could somebody fill us in on what exactly is going on here?" Finnick said. "I'm a little confused..." After Hermione had explained the three curses to him, he added, "So you think Malfoy has used one of these illegal curses to earn himself a twelve?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it past him," Ron muttered.

"None of us would dare use them," Hermione explained. "But Harry told me he was bragging about how they won't be illegal here."

"I see," Finnick said thoughtfully, but before he could say anything else, an announcement even more shocking that Malfoy's score was broadcast.

"Due to unforeseen circumstances," Claudius Templesmith explained. "The private sessions in the Training Centre were cut short following Draco Malfoy's session, and so fellow Slytherins Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini have been awarded no score."

* * *

By the time Harry showed up in the dining room for breakfast the next morning, he was still fuming over Malfoy's training score. Only Hermione, Lavender and Neville had arrived before him, and the trio were talking to their mentors. After getting himself a couple of slices of toast, he settled down next to Hermione and tried to pick up the conversation.

"So, you're saying that the most important part is still to come?" Neville was asking.

"Probably," Finnick shrugged. "Training scores matter, but how you perform during your interview tomorrow night will depend how much sponsor support you get."

"The Games are often won or lost because of the amount of support certain tributes have in the arena," Katniss added.

"Of course," Finnick grinned. "I should know."

"Whatever," Katniss said, rolling her eyes at him, leaning back in her chair.

"Are the interviews tomorrow, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered him. _Of course she would know already._ "They take place in the City Circle just outside this building tomorrow night."

"That gives you two days to prepare," Finnick explains. "It's worth spending as much time as you can on deciding how to conduct yourselves during the interviews. Nearly everyone comes up with some sort of angle or aspect of their personality to play up. Anything you can do to make yourself stand out is worth it."

"So do you have much advice to offer?" Lavender asked.

"Plenty," Katniss smiled. "All we're going to be doing today is trying to coach you through various strategies until you find a way of making yourself stand out tomorrow."

"So when do we begin?" Ron asked, who had recently joined the others at the table.

"As soon as you're all ready," Finnick said. "This morning, Marie will be helping the girls with their presentation, while Katniss and I will be guiding you three boys on the content of your interviews. After lunch, we'll swap over, and hopefully by dinner we'll have something sorted for all of you."

"Right," Ron said. "Sounds like a plan."

"Seeing as you three have got yourselves ready faster than the girls have, I see no reason why we can't make an early start," Finnick said. "Do you want to go through your strategies alone or as a group?"

"I don't mind," Harry said, knowing there would be advantages to either scenario, but both Ron and Neville wanted to be mentored alone.

"Right then," Finnick said. "Let's get things started. Katniss, why don't you take Neville and I'll take Harry, and whoever has their strategy sorted first takes Ron?" Katniss nodded in agreement.

"Very well, then," Finnick concluded, standing from the table. "Come on, Harry. You're with me."

From the dining room, Finnick led Harry down the corridor to the sitting room, where they took seats opposite each other.

"Right, then," Finnick began thoughtfully. "Even though I've sat down and had this conversation with several young boys and girls over the last few years, I have a feeling this year will be different."

"Why's that?" Harry asked.

"Usually, these sessions help establish a part of a tribute's character that they can play up during the interview, a sort of character they have to adopt for the sake of winning sponsors for the Games," Finnick said, sitting up out of his usual easy slouch into a more closed posture that almost seemed alien to Harry. "I don't always need to put on a show for the cameras," Finnick said, his voice softer and more humble than Harry had heard it before. "It's just a side of me that the people here in the Capitol expect to see from me, after being a cocky, arrogant, flirty teenager during my interview."

"So what's going to be different this year?" Harry asked again.

"This year, it's not all about personalities," Finnick explained. "Usually, those angles are all that the audience are interested in. This year, you and your friends are completely different to anything the Capitol audience have seen before, and they want to know all about you as a wizard."

"I see," Harry said thoughtfully. "They want to know about what it's like to be able to do magic."

"Something along those lines, I assume," Finnick said. "And from what I've heard, that all plays straight into your hands." Finnick leaned forward towards Harry with excitement. "Judging from what I've been hearing from Hermione and the others, you're something of a legend among your people. Is that right?"

"Well, you could say that," Harry snapped. He had been hoping that if nothing else, he might have been able to escape celebrity status here in the Capitol, where nobody knew his name. He had hoped that he would be able to make people like him just by, well, being him. But now it seemed that Finnick wanted to make the Capitol aware of his fame, too. And he wasn't sure he was happy with that.

"After talking to Hermione about the Unforgivable Curses last night, she mentioned to me that you are the only witch or wizard who is known to have survived the killing curse," Finnick said. "I think you should definitely remember to mention that during your interview."

Harry felt himself becoming angry. "I didn't consciously do anything to survive that. The audience won't understand why-"

"From what Hermione was telling me, I'm not sure if I understand either," Finnick shrugged. "But that doesn't matter; the fact that you did it is enough to make you sound invincible, the fact they don't understand why makes you mysterious. People will want to hear more of what you have to say. Particularly if you mention half the other things you've achieved in the past five years, fighting off all sorts of creatures, many of which I've never even heard of. And if you're really struggling, just talk about some other magical event and claim you did it."

"So the plan's just to brag about all the horrific things I've been through as though they are some sort of trophy?" Harry asked.

"It's no different to how I have to gloat about killing people when I won the Hunger Games," Finnick said with a grim smile. "Everything you've been through makes you sound like a troublemaker and a rebel at school, and a fighter and an adventurer away from it. You've got so many impressive and interesting anecdotes that the audience will be disappointed when your time is up. It might feel self-centred, by casual arrogance and bragging will make people like you, and that's what the interviews are all about."

With a sigh, Harry began to realise that Finnick was right. The Games weren't about being yourself, but rather being someone the public would like and get behind. And there was at least a good chance that the audience would get behind him.

He may not have been happy about it, but at least he had a strategy.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, I welcome constructive criticism :)**

 **P.S. As many of you already know, I am a meticulous planner when it comes to writing stories, and I have a complete list of training scores for all twenty-four tributes written up. Would any of you be interested in me posting the full list of scores in the author's notes for the next chapter?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks go to PerSonNee, sillymoose13, PeridotPi, Joshua the Terminian and trumpetgrl2 for reviewing the last chapter! I really appreciate the support :)**

 **Several people asked for the full list of training scores, so they're posted beneath this author's note.**

 **There are only the interviews left before the arena... I can't wait to get the Games started for real :D**

 **Still, I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Training Scores**

 **GRYFFINDOR**

Lavender Brown - 5/6

Hermione Granger - 7/11

Parvati Patil - 5/7

Neville Longbottom - 5/4

Harry Potter - 9/9

Ron Weasley - 7/8

 **HUFFLEPUFF**

Susan Bones - 4/5

Megan Jones - 5/4

Sophie Roper - 8/6

Justin Finch-Fletchley - 7/8

Wayne Hopkins - 5/5

Ernie MacMillan - 3/6

 **RAVENCLAW**

Mandy Brocklehurst - 4/6

Padma Patil - 5/7

Lisa Turpin - 6/5

Terry Boot - 4/4

Michael Corner - 7/7

Anthony Goldstein - 6/7

 **SLYTHERIN**

Millicent Bulstrode - 7/4

Daphne Greengrass - 6/5

Pansy Parkinson - 6/6

Draco Malfoy - 9/12

Theodore Nott - x/x

Blaise Zabini - x/x

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

By the time Harry joined his fellow Gryffindors in the dining room for lunch, there was a good mood flowing through the room. Neville and Ron, who had finished their sessions with Katniss before Finnick was done with Harry, were deep in conversation at the far and of the table, and Hermione was laughing with Katniss next to them.

"You took your time," Katniss smiled as Harry followed Finnick into the room.

"We had a lot of ideas," Finnick countered, grabbing a glass of liquor from a tray held out by an Avox. "Either that, or our ideas were more creative than yours," he grins.

"Whatever you want to think, Odair," Katniss grinned in response.

"So," Harry said, ending the bickering. "How did your morning sessions go?"

"All right, I suppose," Hermione said with a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. "Before speaking to Marie, I never knew there was so much to learn about personal etiquette."

"Tell me about it," Lavender agreed wearily.

"Trust me, it could have been worse," Katniss said. "Be thankful you got Finnick's escort and not mine."

"The bubbly one with the pink wig?" Finnick asked, suppressing a smile.

"Pink, orange, whatever," Katniss shrugged. "You're on about the right person. Effie used to get upset about the small slip in manners."

"I bet Haymitch drove her up the wall," Finnick said.

"Just a little," Katniss smiled.

"So, are we with Marie after lunch?" Harry asked, not sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

"Yes," Finnick said. "But it'll be better than you think. There's not much we need to be told about how to wear a suit, or how to be polite to people."

It turned out Finnick was right. Marie was fussy, easy to frustrate and seemed to be constantly chastising the Harry for fashion mistakes he'd never even heard of, but even so it took less than an hour before his escort was happy with his presentation, and he was left with the afternoon to himself.

Having the strange feeling of freedom, if only in a limited way, Harry took the opportunity to get some peace and quiet, ridding himself of Ron and Neville quickly to disappear into his room. Collapsing onto the bed with a sigh, staring vacantly out at the blue July sky, he finally had a moment to lie back and think, and he'd be damned if he missed it.

Just five days had passed since he and his classmates arrived in Panem, and already his stay in the Capitol was drawing to a close. In two days' time, the Hunger Games would have begun, and he might already be dead. And if not him, then definitely some of his friends.

It was almost too terrifying to think about.

For the first time, he wondered what would be happening at Hogwarts, now that he was gone. For one thing, Voldemort would no longer be a threat, thanks to their unknowing sacrifice. In a way, knowing the world he left behind was no longer under threat gave him confidence. Something to remind himself of when times would inevitably get tough in the arena.

It was a Friday afternoon. Here in the Capitol, the usual bustle of the city continued beneath Harry's window, thousands of people living through the excitement of the biggest week of the year. Back at Hogwarts, it would have been just a normal school day, although he was sure it no longer felt normal to those that had been left behind. He wondered what Professor Dumbledore had told everyone about their disappearance; he thought the complete truth would be unlikely, even though Dumbledore usually told things as they were. It just made too little sense for anyone to really comprehend. He'd lived through the past week, and even he wasn't completely sure he understood it.

He wondered what the friends he left behind would think of his disappearance. What it would be like for Dean and Sheamus to wake up in their dorm in Gryffindor tower with three of the beds empty. What it would be like for Crabbe and Goyle, wandering around aimlessly with no Malfoy to follow. What it would be like for the Weasleys not to know what happened to their son...

He was sure there would be enquiries. Certainly Ginny wouldn't back down until she got the truth from someone. Luna would no doubt have some sort of crazy theory, which may or may not be anywhere near accurate. There would be others, old faces from the D.A. who got left behind, who would press matters, too. But over time, they would come to accept who they had lost, and move on with their lives. A luxury, Harry realised, that he wasn't afforded. He was lucky if he'd got another week left.

And so, as the afternoon wore on, he made an effort to remember everyone he had left behind. And not just physically, like Luna, Tonks, Arthur Weasley and Ginny, but those that he had lost along the way. His parents. Cedric. Sirius...

Slowly, patiently, Harry remembered, until all the good times were locked away safely within his mind and the only thing left was reality.

There was only one thing he could afford to think about from now on.

* * *

A day later, and Harry found himself being made and remade again by his prep team ready for the interviews that night. When his stylist, a short Capitol woman in her early twenties named Iris, he found that he barely even recognised her, let alone remember her name. Last time they had met, in the Remake Centre the day Harry had arrived in the Capitol, he'd had far too much on his mind to pay much attention to his surroundings. Her frizzy shoulder-length hair was so bright, with neon blue and lime green streaks running through it, that he was amazed he hadn't noticed before.

As with his session with Marie the day before, he realised that the boys got off lucky with the prep teams too, when he was joined by Ron and Neville in the sitting room dressed in their suits before any of the three girls had appeared.

"Has it always been like this?" Ron asked Finnick impatiently.

"I've never known the girl be ready first," Finnick replied. "Then again, they have more to do than we need to. If we spent ages putting on nail varnish and perfecting our makeup, then maybe they'd be done faster than us."

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and soon the whole Gryffindor crowd was gathered at the elevator; Finnick, Katniss, Marie, six tributes and six stylists. As they rode the elevator down, Harry could see the crowds gathering in the City Circle outside, and for the first time, he began to feel nervous. Having had so many bad experiences in the past with the media, especially the twisted Daily Prophet, he'd never got along with the press, and loathed interviews. But here he had nothing to worry about. If he was speaking to a live audience, there would be no way his words could be twisted, was there?

For the first time since training, the twenty-four tributes were gathered together at the start of the interviews, waiting in the foyer of the Training Centre for their cue to take to the stage at the front of the building, looking out at the City Circle. Harry took a moment to scan through his competition, once again dressed in the traditional colours of their houses, trying to see whether many were struggling for nerves. A couple of Ravenclaws looked a little wobbly, Hermione seemed to be fretting, Ernie MacMillian was talking frantically to Justin Finch-Fletchley, and yet the Slytherins seemed completely stoic. No signs of panic whatsoever. Harry noticed Malfoy leaning against a wall on the far side of the room, talking casually to Pansy Parkinson. Seemingly without a care in the world. Not that he had anything to worry about. He scored a twelve, the lucky git.

Then a Capitol voice appeared through speakers overhead, telling the tributes to line up ready to take the stage, and Harry found his place between Neville and Ron. For a moment all the tributes stood waiting in silence, and then a young Gamemaker Harry didn't recognise walked into the room, addressing the lot of them.

"Tributes," he began, running a hand through his black hair, streaked with purple, the same colour as his tight-fitting shirt. "We allowed you an opportunity to flex your magical muscles, so to speak, during your private sessions two days ago. We would like to repeat that offer tonight. During your interview, you will all be offered your wands, which are to be used to entertain the crowd however you see fit. However, no aggressive or violent magic will be permitted. This is for entertainment purposes only."

The Gamemaker smiled as excited murmurs ran through the room. "Thank you for your understanding, and good luck, tributes. May the odds be ever in your favour."

Then he was gone, and Harry followed Neville as the tributes took to the stage. During the interviews, they would be seated in a semi-circle at the back of the stage, called up one by one for their interview with Caesar Flickerman. They would be given three minutes only. No more, no less.

The sun had not quite set, and yet the City Circle was as bright as the middle of the day, lit up by dozens of bright lights shining down towards the stage. Looking out as he walked to his seat, Harry could see thousands of people crammed into the City Circle, standing as close to the stage as they could manage, the more wealthy watching on from balconies and constructed viewing platforms. The largest of these platforms is placed directly opposite the stage, and the stylists command the front row. Behind them sit many of the previous Hunger Games victors, his mentors among them.

Not long after the tremendous roar from the crowd has died down and Harry has taken his seat, Caesar Flickerman burst out onto the stage, smiling, laughing and waving to the crowd. Close up, Harry could now see that his suit sparkled because it had thousands of tiny electric bulbs embedded within the midnight blue material. With his seemingly endless charisma, Caesar takes just a few moments to warm up the already hyped crowd before getting straight down to business, calling Lavender Brown to centre stage for the first of the interviews.

Harry barely paid attention to the first interview as he began to get used to his surroundings. As Caesar began to ask Lavender Brown about Hogwarts (in a way, she got it easy going first - the audience were only going to want to hear about the magical world so much in one night), Harry's eyes panned through the audience for the faces he knew, up on the balconies and viewing platforms. It wasn't difficult to find the Gamemakers, stood together in a block of purple on a balcony high up to his right. But try as he might, he couldn't find Seneca Crane among them.

Averting his gaze to the stylists, he quickly spotted Iris, standing out in a sky blue dress. Meeting Harry's eye for a moment, she gave him a reassuring smile that he returned before looking further back in the seating for his mentors. This proved to be harder than he had expected, as the eight mentors for this year's Games were hidden within at least forty victors. More than anything, that made Harry realise how long the Games had been going for, and just how many people had been doomed to the same fate that inevitably awaited him. Some of the victors were elderly, which put into scale just how long the Games had been around. They had lasted a lifetime. Why had nobody thought to stop them?

He eventually spotted Katniss, curled up next to Peeta on the second row, watching Lavender intensely as she went through her interview. Finnick was harder to find, sitting a couple of rows further back, turned away from the stage, whispering to a shorter, blond-haired man around his age, occasionally turning to laugh at something the younger woman on his left had said. She barely looked a year older Harry. Certainly a recent winner.

Soon, however, Harry's attention was drawn back to Lavender's interview, which seemed to be going by far faster than Harry thought it would. As the interview progressed, and it became clear that Lavender's nerves were starting to show through, and Harry began to appreciate the effort the Caesar put in to keep the conversation moving, asking tricky questions when he knew the tribute could handle it, keeping things light to build up confidence if not. Ending with a reassuring magical flourish, in which Lavender demonstrated an excellent Levitation Charm, much to Caesar's amusement (it was the first time Caesar and all of the audience had witnessed magic), Lavender's interview was soon at a close, and Hermione stepped up to centre stage after her.

Whatever Hermione had been worried about, Harry quickly saw that she'd had no reason to be concerned. From the moment Caesar handed her wand to her before she took her seat, it was clear that Hermione had a game plan. Take any and every opportunity to show off just how good of a witch she was. Starting with casually transfiguring her chair to a seat of her choosing before sitting down opposite Caesar and continuing to casually show off spells while in conversation, until the conversation was revolving around her abilities, once the entire City Circle was decorated in the red and gold of Gryffindor. Giving vague and knowledgeable-sounding answers, she came across as slightly arrogant, very mysterious, and certainly someone who knew her stuff. The entire audience was entranced by the flow of magic, completely blowing away Lavender's efforts in a whirlwind of colour.

She concluded her interview in the same way she finished her private session with the Gamemakers; her flock of birds dancing among the crowd as fireworks burst overhead, her Patronus leaping about the stage like a conductor, orchestrating the whole spectacle.

It didn't matter much what Parvati or Neville brought to the table; none of it would hold a candle to Hermione's breath-taking performance. But by the time Harry had been called to the stage, the grace period for Hermione was over, and he knew things were playing into his hands. Having been handed an incredible magical performance already that evening, Harry felt no urge to use magic to win over the audience. Which, in a way, was good. After his session with Finnick yesterday, he knew well enough that his stories would be what the audience wanted to hear.

And so as Caesar called him to the stage and gave him his wand, Harry didn't even bother to use his wand before tucking it in his pocket.

"So, Harry Potter," Caesar began after shaking Harry's hand and returning to his seat. "How are you finding life in the Capitol? Very different to Hogwarts, I imagine?"

"Oh, definitely," Harry said, unsure of whether to be flattering or not. "It's been quite an experience."

"I'm sure it has," Caesar smiled. "Although I'm sure, going to a magical school, you're no stranger amazing experiences, are you?"

"No, there's certainly always a lot going on at Hogwarts," Harry replied. "I don't think I've had a boring year since I've arrived."

"Ah, of course!" Caesar exclaimed. "You're Harry Potter! I remember being told you'd had a few adventures and escapades before your arrival here! Some of which - or so I've heard - concern _that scar_ ," Caesar added, pointing at the barely-concealed lightning scar on Harry's forehead.

For the first time, Harry started to feel uncomfortable, and for a moment he didn't know what to say, so Caesar filled in the gaps for him.

"For those in the audience who don't know of Harry Potter," the interviewer explained. "I shall attempt to familiarise you with his story. At least, the parts of it that I know. I'm sure our dashing young hero here will be able to fill in the blanks for me. For many years, wizards were under threat from a dark and powerful man who imposed a reign of terror over the land. He was so strong and feared that most witches and wizards wouldn't even speak of his name."

"Voldemort," Harry interrupted, trying to ignore the gasps and murmurs he heard behind him. Not everyone in his year was as comfortable speaking the Dark Lord's name as he was. "His name was Voldemort."

"Yes, yes," Caesar said quietly, sensing the unease behind him on the stage. "Anyway, _Voldemort_ tried to gain complete control, but there was resistance; a resistance that Harry's parents were a part of."

"He murdered my parents," Harry said darkly, staring down at the floor, to the sound of gasps from the crowd.

"Indeed," Caesar continued, giving Harry's hand a reassuring squeeze on his armchair. "Voldemort knew a spell so powerful that he could kill anyone on the spot. Yet when he turned his attention to baby Harry, he couldn't kill him. The spell backfired, and Voldemort fell from power. Harry, however, was untouched, apart from that scar on his forehead. He's the _Boy Who Lived_."

Harry, who was trying to decide how to react to the audience, who were now half murmuring, half applauding, ended up doing nothing. He was amazed how much Caesar Flickerman knew. Clearly he was close to President Snow to be told that much, who must in turn have got the information from Dumbledore.

He began to wonder just how much contact Professor Dumbledore had with the Capitol, and what other secrets he may have told the people here.

"So I've heard, since then you've been in all sorts of scrapes, haven't you?"

"A fair few," Harry smirked. "I mean, there was the Triwizard Tournament I won two years ago."

"Twiziard Tournament?" Caesar asked.

"It's a bit like the Hunger Games, really," Harry said, trying to get the most out of what in truth was a terrifying year, that ended in the most dire circumstances. "It's a competition between magical schools, in which students compete in dangerous - and often deadly - magical tasks."

"Like what?"

"Well, in one of the tasks, I fought off a dragon," Harry said, trying out a confident smirk that he wasn't really sure suited him, and reminded him too much of Sirius and his dad.

"A dragon!" Caesar exclaimed.

"Yeah, a dragon," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "Believe me, that was nothing. I killed a Basilisk when I was twelve."

"A Basilisk?"

"You know, one of those big serpents with eyes that kill you," Harry explained.

"Oh, I know what a Basilisk is," Caesar said. "I was just surprised to hear they actually exist, and that a twelve-year-old could fight one off."

"Well, I did have a wand and a sword with me," Harry added modestly. _Not to mention a magical hat and a phoenix_ , he added in his head.

"Well, it's still incredible, right?" Caesar asked the crowd, and they cheered enthusiastically. When the crowd had died down, he asked, "And is that normal for a twelve-year-old wizard to be fighting Basilisks?"

"No," Harry said with a sigh. "That's just me."

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" Caesar laughed, before glancing up at the large clock on the far side of the City Circle. "Well, Harry, we're almost out of time. Do you have anything you want to show us with your wand, while you have the chance?"

"Just one thing," Harry smiled. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

* * *

And so the interviews passed, one by one, a blur of jokes, anecdotes and magic that moved slowly onwards, into its second hour and still nowhere near coming to a close. And all the while, near the end of the line, Draco Malfoy sat fuming in his green suit.

As the tributes had been about to walk onto stage, the purple-haired Gamemaker had pulled him to one side and told Draco that he wouldn't be allowed his wand during his interview, after what happened in his private session. In a way, he was surprised that he'd suffered little else in the past couple of days, apart from increased numbers of Peacekeepers around the Training Centre. He assumed the Gamemakers would be saving their real revenge for the arena, where they could just pass it off as making life hard for the tributes.

Not that he'd let them get away with it. He'd be ready for anything that his captors tried to throw at him.

It had taken six Peacekeepers to prise his wand from his grip in the gymnasium, when they had him pinned to the wall, a man holding down each limb. He'd already Stunned three and Disarmed a further two before he let them get close. Given the choice, he'd have made a break for it, and he'd got to the elevator before they stopped him and paraded him back up to his floor.

Now Draco knew that Muggles could beat you if the odds were eight to one. But that didn't mean that he wasn't worth more than seven of them.

Unfortunately, sitting here and watching his classmates take their turns in the limelight, he realised he still had a job to do. After infuriatingly watching Granger run rings around everyone with her bright lights and flashing colours, sitting by as Potter ran over the _same old sob story_ , and then groan as the Capitol got suckered in by Weasley's pointless jokes, he began to realise that despite getting a twelve in training, he hadn't given the advantage to himself; he'd given it to Blaise and Theo, the two people the Capitol knew nothing of, and who the audience would be more eager than ever to hear from. The two people being interviewed after him.

If he wanted to be memorable, he'd have to blow whatever they had to offer out of the water. Without a wand.

 _It was a good thing he was used to thinking on his feet..._

Eventually Pansy Parkinson's interview was over, and he was being called to the front of the stage. Standing up slowly, walking wish his usual swagger and cocky grin, he made his way towards Caesar Flickerman with a plan firmly formed in his mind.

Granger's colourful display firmly in his mind as the benchmark, what he had planned would better even the Mudblood, if he played it right.

"Draco Malfoy," Caesar said brightly, offering out a hand that Draco reluctantly shook on the way to his seat. "Before we get down to talking about what everyone in Panem wants to hear about, you may notice that unlike the tributes who have come before you, I haven't offered you your wand as you arrived here. That is because I have been informed by the Gamemakers that you aren't permitted to use it here tonight." This, of course, he already knew. He assumed Caesar was saying this for the audience's benefit.

Still, Draco shrugged like the news was new to him. "That doesn't bother me much," he said with a smirk.

"Really?" Caesar asked, followed by, "So why do you think the Gamemakers are not allowing you to use your wand tonight?"

Now Draco looked up that the balcony where the Gamemakers were gathered, searching for the purple-haired Gamemaker who had spoken to him before the interviews. Only when their eyes met did he speak.

This'll really mess with them, he thought, grinning.

"Perhaps," he began, holding the gaze of the purple-haired Gamemaker, "because the Gamemakers realise that I don't need a wand to perform magic."

"Oh," Caesar said excitedly, sensing that he was closing in on why Draco had scored the first ever twelve in Hunger Games history. "Like what?"

With a click of his fingers and a bang like a crack of thunder, Draco seemed to fold in on himself and was gone.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry once again that this chapter took so long to write... I always find the interviews the hardest part of a HG fanfic to write. I don't know why, but I really struggle with it.**

 **Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: We've reached fifty reviews, so special thanks go to Joshua the Terminian, sillymoose13, PeridotPi, santiago poncini20, DaughterofTerpsichore, oceanfanfiction, Coaster317 and Elphaba for reviewing!**

 **It seems like Sunday is becoming my regular updating day... I really need to do something about getting more chapters done during the week. Then again, we're in the arena with the next chapter, so I'm sure that'll spur me on for more regular updates :)**

 **In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

With a gasp of recognition flickering through the crowd like a shockwave, Draco paused for a moment stood on the edge of the Gamemakers' balcony, a calm smile on his face, waiting for the cameras to catch up to him.

"Why bother," the Slytherin began with a smile, before clicking his fingers again and reappearing in the middle of the crowd in front of the stage.

"Using a wand-"

CRACK.

"When you can-"

CRACK.

"Do something-"

CRACK.

"Like Apparition?" Draco finished, leaning back in his chair across from Caesar Flickerman as though nothing had happened.

It only took another second before the whole crowd was on their feet.

* * *

"I can't believe none of us thought of that," Hermione fumed as the tributes gathered backstage, waiting for their mentors and escorts to arrive to take them up to their quarters.

"Well, there's a reason why," Ron said bitterly. "Half the year haven't passed their tests yet - hang on, he's not even seventeen yet, is he?"

"No," Harry sighed. That was one of the main reasons why he hadn't attempted anything like Apparition; he wasn't old enough for lessons. Not that it seemed to stop Draco, though. He was sure that, just like everything else, his father had been pushing Draco to start early. He'd been a Seeker at twelve, after all.

"It's ridiculous," Hermione said, pulling out a couple of hairpins to let her hair fall past her shoulders once more. "That I spent hours thinking up an impressive sequence of magic and never considered anything as obviously crowd-pleasing as Apparition."

"It does look impressive, no matter how hard it is," Ron admitted. "Maybe that was how he got his twelve," he mused.

"No," Harry said firmly. He had grown used to keeping an eye on Malfoy that year, and something about the way he almost seemed to be talking directly to the Gamemakers before his spectacle tonight suggested that the Gamemakers had never seen it before.

Telling the others that, Hermione countered, "So you're still hanging on to your Death Eater theory?"

Harry took a moment to reply; he was busy watching Malfoy get into an elevator with Blaise Zabini and his mentor Johanna. Once they were gone, he said, "I don't know. I just think we need to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah," Hermione replied nervously. Harry noticed her eyes had been on Malfoy too. "So do I."

Before any more could be said on the matter, Marie bursted across the room towards them, a massive grin on her face, Katniss and Finnick talking in more refined tones behind her.

"Well done, everyone!" Marie said enthusiastically, her auburn curls bouncing happily beside her. "You're almost there now!"

"Oh, great," Ron muttered. "Thanks for reminding us."

"Good job tonight, though," Finnick said with a more reassuring smile. "We'll see to it that you have enough support in the arena, I'm sure. Should we head upstairs?"

With that, Finnick led his tributes back to the elevator for the journey back to their rooms. In the elevator, everyone was silent. Looking out over the bright lights of the Capitol, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that this would be the last time he saw that view. That it was his last night on Earth, and whatever hell he was being flung into in the morning would take place somewhere else entirely, completely detached from reality.

He felt as though in many ways, he would die in the morning. Any survival in the arena would merely be prolonging the inevitable.

Looking around the elevator, everyone else seemed to be in similar states of mind; Hermione was fidgeting nervously with the fabric of her dress, Parvati and Lavender looked close to tears, Neville stared nervously out over the city, and Ron sulked at the back. What a difference a week had made.

Arriving on their floor, Finnick gathered everyone together in the sitting room, guiding his tributes to seats while he paced in front of the television, uncharacteristically nervous. He reminded Harry of the Finnick he had seen during coaching for the interviews, when the victor stripped away the seductive mask that he constantly wore during his time in the Capitol. Finally, with a deep intake of breath, he began to speak.

"I would just like to say," Finnick began slowly, looking at each of his tributes in turn. "On behalf of both Katniss and myself, what a pleasure it has been to mentor all of you this week. When I was in the Games a decade ago, my mentor had suffered a nervous breakdown - an unfortunate yet sadly common side-effect of becoming a victor - just a fortnight before the Games, and was barely able to answer a question for the whole time I was in the Capitol. In the end, it's thanks to my district partner's mentor Mags, who worked her socks off when she took me on too, that I pulled through when it counted. So I suppose, more than most victors I really do appreciate the value of a good mentor. I just hope that Katniss and myself have done enough to help you survive the Games.

"Becoming a tribute is a difficult adjustment for anyone to make," Finnick continued. "But especially for all of you, having travelled so far and seen so many new sights this week, and I think you have done an incredible job adapting to your circumstances. I must admit, at first I was somewhat sceptical about this whole magic thing, but after this evening I know I'll never doubt again, and I don't think I'll ever be able to give any of you enough respect."

"You have all been through so much in the last week," Katniss added. "And have all come through it far better than I did, if that counts for anything."

"I'll second that," Finnick added with a smile.

"The only other thing I would like to add is something that I cannot stress enough," Katniss said. "When you are in the arena, keep your head in the game at all times. Be prepared to fight or flee in an instant. Think with your head; sometimes, engaging even a weaker tribute can be too much of a risk. Make sure you keep your eyes peeled for signs of danger. Rest only when you need to. Trust nobody. The Games twist everyone; people change in the arena. Expect the unexpected. Keep your weapons on you at all times, and keep your mind clear; bad judgement is the last thing any tribute needs. Constant vigilance will win the Games, not necessarily strength or ability."

After a while, when nobody spoke, Finnick clapped his hands together and brought the gathering to a close.

"Right then," the victor said. "That's everything covered, and you should all be off to bed; you've got an early start tomorrow morning. Good luck, everyone, we wish you all the best, and hope that if not for yourselves, then you will at least win the Games for Gryffindor."

* * *

Two hours later, and Harry was still awake. The digital alarm clock on his bedside table told him that the time was a quarter to midnight. He'd been told he would be woken at six-thirty. He knew that he'd need a good night's sleep, but now that he could count the remainder of his life in days and possibly hours, he felt like somehow sleep wasn't so important.

After it had become clear to him that sleep was out of the question, he'd flicked through the Half-Blood Prince's textbook one last time, but it held no new secrets; he'd well and truly scoured it from cover to cover, with a couple of secret weapons up his sleeve.

After that he'd given up trying to entertain himself, choosing instead to lie back on his bed and stare at the ceiling, wishing the seconds by until dawn, but ultimately wanting to savour every moment.

Eventually he could stand the boredom no more, and stood up from the bed, content for a moment to pace through his room, trying to do anything to take his mind away from the Games. It didn't take long before he started to feel penned in, and after testing his door to find it unlocked, Harry took to pacing the corridors, ending up staring out the sitting room window, looking out over the bright lights of the city.

It didn't take long before Harry heard the door open and close behind him, along with the sound of two pairs of feet trying very hard to be silent.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Harry asked quietly, not taking his eyes away from the window.

"Well, it's hard to get your mind set for sleeping when you think about where we're going," Ron replied. Harry could guess who the other pair of feet belonged to. Both of his best friends came to join him at the window.

"It all just feels like we don't stand a chance," Harry said defeatedly. "The numbers are against us, and all the attention is on Malfoy."

"Oh, who cares what he's up to?" Ron said. "Give it a day into the Games, and everyone will realise just what a sly git he is."

"Ron might have a point," Hermione said, and then almost without thinking, she added, "although hopefully we'll get lucky and someone else will take him out before us." She finished by clapping her hands to her mouth, as though ashamed she had even thought such a thing. Harry understood almost immediately. As much as he loathed Malfoy, he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to see him dead, either. He didn't want anyone to die. He didn't see why they had to.

"Yeah, maybe," Ron smirked, missing the unease in the air between Harry and Hermione.

"I must say, I partly disagree with you," Hermione replied.

"What?"

"I care what Malfoy's up to."

"Really?" Ron replied. "I don't give a damn what he's doing as long as he stays well away from us."

"Ron, have you ever heard of the expression, _'Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer'_?" Hermione asked. When Ron didn't reply, she added with a sigh, "I think we should ally with Malfoy."

If she'd expected Harry to see reason in her argument, she'd misjudged him, and instead found both boys turning on him.

"Are you mad?" Harry snapped, suddenly feeling angry. "Don't you realise who he is?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione stood up to him. "And that's _exactly_ why I think we should keep an eye on him. He's dangerous, but with three of us around him, he won't be able to step out of line." She smiled a little. "He might even be able to help us out a little."

"No," Ron replied. "I flat out refuse."

Harry, however, was more conservative in his judgement.

"It's a good idea, Hermione," Harry said. "But if you seriously expect us to find some sort of civil agreement to work together, you can forget it. If you can manage to keep an eye on him somehow, though, I'm more than happy to benefit from that."

"Fine," Hermione said, frustrated by her friends' lack of cooperation, but she knew not to push the matter, and for a moment all fell silent. In the end, it was Ron who spoke up first.

"I can't believe it's all going to end like this," Ron muttered. "A massive bloody mess."

Hermione looked up; she had been picking at a fingernail. "What do you mean?"

"When you were younger, did you ever wonder what it would be like when we all grew up?" Ron asked. "Like, what would happen to everyone after Hogwarts?"

"Sort of, I guess," Hermione shrugged. "I'd like to think I had a plan for my life, before the Capitol stole our futures."

"I think that's exactly the point I'm getting at. Our final chapter has already been written by the Gamemakers. They've already told us how our story is going to end. A massive bloody mess in the middle of a field somewhere." Ron muttered. "Or whatever environment they choose to chuck us in the morning."

Hermione paused for a moment, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Something about Ron's words had touched her, and she wasn't sure how to respond. Eventually, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder, she said, "Ron, the Games aren't over yet. Our hands may have been dealt, but we can still choose how to play the cards. We can still fight. Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, offering Hermione the ghost of a smile. The tiredness was finally starting to hit him. "We can still fight."

Hermione glanced up at the clock on the sitting room wall. Two-thirty. "I suppose we'd better try and get some sleep tonight, while we can," she said shakily, breaking away from the others. Then, tears threatening to form in the corners of her wide brown eyes, she pulled her best friends into a tight, trembling embrace, whispering softly, "Good luck to both of you in the morning. I'll see you again soon, don't worry."

Then she kissed them both once on the cheek and was gone.

* * *

Harry was woken simultaneous by the sunlight starting to force its way past the blackout blinds and by his stylist Iris hammering on the door, desperate to wake him. A glance at the clock told him he was already twenty minutes late.

And then it really struck him. The day was finally upon him. The Hunger Games would begin in just over three hours. And he would be a player.

Harry dressed himself hurriedly and met Iris outside his door. "About time," she said, half-joking as she led him towards the elevator.

Katniss had told Harry that all the tributes would be transported to the arena by a hoverplane that collected them from the roof of the Training Centre, so Harry was visibly surprised when the elevator went down instead of up.

"There's been a change of plan," Iris explained, noticing Harry's confusion. "The Gamemakers want to speak to all of you before the Games begin."

So instead, Iris led Harry down into the gymnasium. Harry had thought he had seen the last of the gymnasium, and in a way, he had; it looked noticeably different that morning, with all the equipment having been packed away already. It was just an empty space. And, in the centre of the room, there was a crowd of around twenty tributes and two Gamemakers. One of them was the young purple-haired Gamemaker who had spoken to them before the interviews the previous evening. The other, clearly his assistant, was taller a couple of decades older, stood to one side with a clipboard and notes, much as Seneca Crane had aided President Snow in greeting the tributes when they first arrived in the Capitol, six days before.

It turned out Harry was the last but one to arrive; only Michael Corner was later than him. Once all the tributes were present, the younger Gamemaker addressed them all.

"Following some unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances, Seneca Crane is no longer fit to perform his role as Head Gamemaker, and has resigned with immediate effect." Vague mutterings spread through the crowd; Malfoy laughed. The young Gamemaker merely smirked. "The name's Marshall, and I'm Crane's replacement, so you're all my responsibility from here on out. Before we send you all of to the arena, we have a couple of messages for all of you.

"The first message is that none of you will be given your wands prior to the start of the Games," Marshall explained, smiling once again as several tributes looked visibly worried. Harry reasoned that this sort of reaction was exactly what the Gamemakers were after. Not that it bothered him; he had high training scores in both disciplines. "Instead, you will receive your wands during the Games, but only when we feel that you have earned them."

That made sense, at least, Harry reasoned. Prove your worth to the Gamemakers, and they would reward you. An incentive to get stuck in. Forcing people to be active and not passive, for fear of being left at a disadvantage.

"The second message I have for you," Marshall continued. "Concerns a branch of magic that has recently come to our attention known as Apparition."

With no surprises as to how the Gamemakers have discovered this method of transport, nearly all the heads in the room turn towards Malfoy, who merely shrugs, arms crossed, looking down at the floor.

"We understand that in order to Apparate, you must have a clear image in your head of where you want to travel to; in other words, you can only Apparate to places you have already been to. While Apparition within the arena is permitted, I must make it clear to you that all the places within the Capitol that you have been allowed to visit will be heavily guarded by Peacekeepers for the duration of the Games. Anyone who Apparates out of the arena will be shot on sight. Am I clear?" When nobody answered, the new Head Gamemaker asked again, more forcefully this time, and the tributes nodded in agreement.

"Good," Marshall said, smiling once again. "Well, that concludes our meeting here. To save time, you'll all be travelling to the arena together on one hoverplane, which I have just been informed has landed on the roof of this building moments ago. Good luck, tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

* * *

After almost two hours pinned into a seat on a hovercraft, forbidden to move so that none of the tributes take an early shot at each other, Harry was finally free to move once the hovercraft had touched down, but not before a tracker was injected into his left arm. The last thing the Gamemakers would want at this stage would be a lost tribute.

Stepping out of the hoverplane alongside Iris, Harry found himself underground, which surprised him even though Katniss had told him what to expect. Realising how close he was to the arena, every step he took as he followed Iris through a maze of corridors towards the Launch Room felt heavier than the one before. As though he was being dragged towards a future he didn't want.

The Launch Room itself was a brilliant white, sparkling and clean, barely more than a three-metre square. Off to one side was a bathroom with a shower cubicle. With half an hour before the start of the Games, Harry decided there was little else to do but shower and brush his teeth. It would be a long time before he would have another opportunity to thoroughly clean himself, and if nothing else, it was something to keep him busy. Better than feeling penned up pacing around the Launch Room, anyway.

By the time he was out of the bathroom, an Avox had delivered a bag full of clothes that he was required to wear for the arena. All of the tributes would begin the Games in matching attire. If nothing else, it kept the playing field even.

Iris laid out the clothes along the wooden bench at the side of the room; there was a white cotton t-shirt, dark combat trousers, grippy leather fingerless gloves and soft leather boots with durable rubber soles.

"Any clues about the arena?" Harry asked Iris. It was well-known that the clothes provided for the tribute could gave hints as to the conditions in the arena.

"Well, you haven't got a coat or a jumper, so it's going to be hot," Iris replied immediately. Upon closer inspection of the combats, Iris noticed that the bottom half of them could be unzipped and taken off, turning the trousers into shorts. "Maybe the conditions will be fairly varied," the stylist added after her discovery. "The gloves don't mean anything, as they're not for keeping in heat; they're just a nice thing to wear. As for the shoes, well, a tread like that would be good on almost any surface, so they don't give anything away, sadly."

"That's fine," Harry said, at least now being able to rule out an ice storm from the list of terrible things he would be facing the moment he arrived on his pedestal. As Iris helped him dress in the clothes provided for him, he couldn't help noticing the air conditioning that kept the Launch Room at a reasonable temperature. He wondered whether, once he arrived in the arena, he would feel a cool breeze ever again.

Then, all too soon, time was up, and a pleasant female voice came through the speakers, telling all tributes to prepare for launch into the arena.

Slowly Iris led Harry to the circular metal plate in the corner of the room that would rise upwards into the arena. During the past week, he'd seen footage from countless Games on the television, attempting to familiarise himself with the Hunger Games. Every year, he'd seen these plates; twenty-four of them held on pedestals, delivering tributes to a myriad of hostile environments. An abandoned city. A barren ice waste. Vast underground caves, where visibility extended just past two metres. One year, the Games had begun at the top of a volcano.

He only wished he could guess what the Gamemakers had in store for him this year.

The female voice spoke again, reminding tributes that there were twenty seconds remaining until launch. Hurriedly, Iris caught Harry's attention and said, "Remember, once you arrive in the arena, you have to stay on the pedestal for sixty seconds. Move before then and you'll be blown sky high."

"Sixty seconds, got it," Harry nodded as the glass cylinder began to descend around him, offering Iris what he hoped was a brave smile.

"Good luck, Harry," Iris said, smiling back at Harry as the cylinder sealed him to his fate, cut off all sounds of the outside world and the metal plate beneath his feet began to ascend, delivering him to the arena.

As the Launch Room disappeared beneath him and he was plunged into darkness, Harry felt the adrenalin build within him, a terrifying rush that he fought to contain, counting the passing seconds as he stood paralysed in the darkness. Five seconds, ten, fifteen...

Then, all of a sudden, the dazzling bright light of the arena was all around him.

It was time to play the game.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I get the feeling most of this chapter was filler... I hope everyone still liked it, though!**

 **P.S. Now all the preparation for the Games is over, any predictions for who's going to win? :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to oceanfanfiction, sillymoose13, ProditorMagnus, DaughterOfTerpsichore, Joshua the Terminian, santiago poncini20, PeridotPi and arven di angelo for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **Ahh, the Games are here at last! Anyone who is familiar with my more popular fanfics will know that chapters like this one are where I'm really within my comfort zone, so this one has been far easier (and thus quicker) to write than most of the previous chapters.**

 **Still, I hope you enjoy reading it :)**

 **Let the Games begin!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

The first thing that struck Harry was the heat. Oh, the heat, like nothing he had ever experienced in Britain, an unhappy marriage of intense, unimpeded rays and stifling humidity that caught him completely off guard. And to think it was only ten in the morning... The day was definitely going to be a scorcher.

Five seconds on the pedestal, and he was already regretting not turning his combat trousers into shorts, but it was too late to do anything now; he'd need his hands free for the new few minutes.

Once he'd got past the unbearable heat and was able to force his head up against the blinding sun, Harry took his first look around the arena. He was in a large, open, grassy space, ringed by trees. A glade, probably a hundred metres across, with the golden structure known as the Cornucopia sitting in the centre. The Cornucopia, a structure synonymous with the Games, a symbol of both safety and danger in equal measure. At the Cornucopia's mouth, Harry could see weapons, food, clothing, shelter - whatever you would need, it was there - stacked up high; a tempting prize for anyone willing to risk running blindly into the chaos at the start of the Games. Surrounding the horn were a variety of smaller, less valuable prizes to claim. Just a few yards from his feet, Harry could see a red sweater, but he'd spotted a fur-lined coat within the heaps of supplies at the centre of the glade.

In a circle surrounding the Cornucopia stood the tributes, all waiting patiently on their pedestals for the Games to begin. All of them faced with a choice. Whether or not to risk it all. The supplies were tempting; it only took Harry a couple of seconds to have his eye on a few items. The first person to arrive at the Cornucopia would have the pick of the supplies, but the second person to arrive would be the first unarmed tribute in the firing line.

It was a dicey game, but Harry knew there was only one thing he could do. He would need the supplies to win, and he fancied his chances of being the first to arrive. He'd always been quick, the fastest runner on the Quidditch team, and despite the heat, endurance would not be an issue over this forty metre sprint.

His mind made up, he set his feet ready for the burst of pace towards the Cornucopia upon the sound of the gong.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Hunger Games begin!" The voice belonged to Claudius Templesmith, the Games' announcer, reminding Harry that precious seconds were slipping away. Forcing himself to concentrate, he began to look around the arena. From the position of the sun, Harry knew he was on the south side of the Cornucopia, and away behind him was a horseshoe-shaped string of snow-capped mountains, presumably marking the limit of the arena, several miles away to the south. To the east and west, where the mountains gave way for verdant foothills, Harry could make out the presence of streams and rivers meandering down the hillsides. Water would be more vital than ever in this humidity. To the north, nothing stood out above the tops of the trees opposite him; that portion of the arena would remain a mystery, to be solved at a later time.

Realising that he was running out of time, Harry scanned around the pedestals, searching for his allies. It turned out that Ron was just three pedestals to his right, his face already flushed from the heat. Beside him was Neville, who briefly met Harry's eyes, forcing Harry to look away. He would do him no good to be involved with Neville now. Instead, he took notice of the two tributes beside him; Pansy Parkinson on his left, Padma Patil on his right.

He was still searching for Hermione when the gong sounded, forcing him into action.

Harry only hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaping off his pedestal, bursting into a sprint as he landed in the grass. The grass was around a foot long, way above his ankles, and it dragged on his trousers as he ran, slowing him down, so Harry felt like he had to work twice as hard as he should have. Glancing across around him, he saw several other tributes making the same dash to the Cornucopia - while glancing over his shoulder, he managed to pick out the faces of Blaise Zabini and Sophie Roper - but importantly, they were all behind him.

As he approached the Cornucopia, the grass became shorter and movement became easier as he reached the pile of supplies, his adrenalin-fuelled eyes scouring the mound for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself. For a moment, in his panic, he seemed unable to find anything, and grabbed the first thing he saw; a small combat axe, and turned to face any on comers.

It turned out that there weren't any. Behind him, the scene had turned into chaos. Tributes running every which way, some of them content to scavenge supplies a few metres out from the cornucopia, others attempting to make their way through to the horn itself, not far from where Harry stood, just a couple of metres from the mouth. Realising he had a few more precious seconds before he would be forced into combat, Harry dashed inside the Cornucopia himself. Already armed, the most important thing for him now was to find supplies. With time in short supply, he couldn't afford to be choosy, and instead grabbed the largest bag he could carry; a navy blue backpack. Hoping that it would contain at least a few useful items, he slung the bag on his back and made his way to the exit of the Cornucopia.

On the way out, he almost ran head-on into Michael Corner, who was barrelling through the crowd at full sprint towards the Cornucopia, but neither Michael nor himself wanted a fight, so they passed without incident as Harry returned to the unforgiving heat of the day outside the golden horn.

In the few brief seconds that had passed since Harry entered the Cornucopia, fear had given way to panic outside, turning a frightened scramble for supplies into a deadly bloodbath. Harry could already hear someone's screams piercing through the glade, see lifeless forms collapsed on the floor only a few metres from him.

Trying to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, Harry found himself interrupted by Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was running straight at him with a dagger. No doubt originally in pursuit of Corner, Harry had offered the Hufflepuff a new target; himself.

Gripping his axe tightly in his right hand, Harry prepared for the incoming threat, waiting until Justin was almost upon him before diving out of the way. However, his backpack made him more sluggish that he had expected, and although he had evaded Justin's blade, their bodies still collided, and the pair collapsed together onto the floor in a tangled heap. Frantically scrambling to get back to his feet first, Harry felt Justin grab hold of his ankles, pulling him back to ground with a heavy thud. Cursing furiously to himself, Harry rolled over and kicked Justin off of him, pulling himself up and grabbing Justin's loose dagger before the Hufflepuff could reach for it himself, kicking Justin's hand away as he lunged for it, leaving Justin trapped on his back with Harry standing above him, a weapon in each hand.

Suddenly the rest of the Games no longer seemed to matter to Harry, and all of the fear, the emotion, the adrenalin of the Games became condensed into one moment, this one moment where he would finally see if he had the bottle to become a victor. Standing there beside the Cornucopia with a weapon in each hand and a weaponless boy at his feet, he knew what was expected of him.

And yet he couldn't do it.

Seconds passed - at least, it felt like seconds - and still he just stood there, paralysed in fear of who he might become.

"Harry!"

Suddenly he was back in the arena, a voice calling out for him, the smell of blood in the air and the cries of his former classmates all around him. Not caring that Justin would use the distraction to escape and live to fight another day, Harry turned around to find Ron standing ten metres from him, already soaked in sweat, a short sword in his left hand. Momentarily relieved to see Ron standing unharmed in front of him, the elation quickly turned to fear as Harry noticed a tribute approach Ron from behind, armed with a knife.

"Ron!" Harry called out desperately, but it was too late. The boy, who Harry could now see was Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, had jumped onto Ron's back, trying to reach around with his weapon hand towards Ron's throat. Desperately sprinting towards his best friend, Harry was powerless as Ron stumbled forward under the weight of the impact, trying to fight off his attacker. In one swift motion, Ron reached up to grab Terry's neck, pulling him forward over his shoulder so that he landed flat on his back at Ron's feet, and Ron didn't hesitate before driving his sword down through the Ravenclaw's chest.

For a moment neither Harry nor Ron moved, both of them staring at the hole left in the boy's chest, the blood tainting his white shirt as he writhed in pain beneath them, the same blood that ran down the groove in Ron's sword, spattering into the grass by his feet. Harry looked up to find Ron looking straight at him, his eyes wide, struggling to keep control of himself in the panic. He opened his mouth to say something, to say _anything_ , but there was nothing for him to say. He had seen everything that Ron had done.

"We need to go," Ron finally said quietly, staring down at the dying boy convulsing at his feet. "Where's Hermione?" He asked agitatedly.

No answer.

"WHERE'S HERMIONE?"

"I DON'T KNOW, RON!" Harry shouted back, worried himself, desperately trying to scan the field for her. He couldn't see Hermione anywhere. Suddenly he felt incredibly vulnerable, standing around staring just a few metres from the Cornucopia amid the chaos all around them, and he knew it was a lost cause.

"Let's just go," he said to Ron with a sigh. "We're too open here. Knowing Hermione, she's already found somewhere safe for herself, anyway."

"I guess," Ron shrugged sadly, finally content to give up. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

The Games had not started well for Hermione. With neither Harry nor Ron in sight from her pedestal (she presumed they were on the far side of the Cornucopia to her), she had little choice but to push forwards with the sound of the gong into the fracas, attempting to scavenge what she could while moving round towards the south side of the Cornucopia.

Luckily most of the tributes around her weren't looking for a fight, and despite the long grass, her progress to the golden horn was swift. Stopping along the way to collect a small black backpack she hoped would give her an edge, she still managed to beat most of her rivals to the centre of the glade. Desperately searching for something to defend herself with, she spotted a bow lying in the grass just a few metres from her. _Perfect!_ That was exactly what she needed to defend herself. Diving into the long grass to retrieve the weapon, she saw that it was a sturdy, light, carbon-fibre recurve bow, very similar to those she had practiced with in the Capitol.

However, she had no arrows.

Standing up in a hurry, she was relieved to see that everyone around her was preoccupied with someone else, letting her spot a small quiver of arrows further around the Cornucopia, pushing her onwards towards where she presumed Harry and Ron would be. Grabbing the red quiver, she slung it over her back but not before placing an arrow against the bowstring, making sure she was ready for action at any moment.

That was when the first screams began. It seemed like it was finally time to get down to business.

Trying to concentrate on the job at hand and not the horrific scenes playing out around her as her classmates fought to the death, she continued her slow progress, her loaded bow darting in different directions to scare off attackers. The only two people who she found in her way, Lavender Brown and Lisa Turpin, both dived out of her way the moment they noticed the bow. Nobody wants to take an arrow so early in the Games. A week in, an attack might be a risk worth taking, but not here. Which was a good thing for Hermione, because if it came to it, she wasn't sure if she could actually kill someone.

Moving around the side of the Cornucopia, she had a moment's relief as she passed into the shade, a rare respite from the merciless heat, but relief quickly turned to horror as she found herself almost tripping over the decimated body of Anthony Goldstein lying broken in the grass. If he wasn't already dead, it wouldn't be long, judging by the amount of blood coating the grass around him, still pouring from the two deep gashes across his chest.

Terrified and speechless as the image was immediately burned into the back of her mind, shaking her head to try and dislodge the image, Hermione forced herself to look up from the body, only to find herself looking straight into the eyes of Theodore Nott. Less than five metres from her, the rush of the fight burning in his eyes and a spear poised to throw in his hand. Panicking, Hermione flung up her bow in front of her, increased the pressure on her bowstring, and watched as Nott added to the trend, collapsing to the ground in front of her.

"Granger!" He cried as he dropped to the ground, revealing the young man behind him who had been watching his back. As the boy turned around, Hermione realised that she was face to face with Draco Malfoy.

The panic of the bloodbath had robbed Malfoy of his careful posture and his calculated arrogance, leaving instead a creature fuelled by rage and penned-in terror. His posture was uncharacteristically tense, his breathing ragged, his white-blond hair slick with sweat. Any sign of weakness Hermione may have noticed in his eyes evaporated as soon as he recognised her, advancing towards her purposefully, his long, slender sword coated in blood, the Dark Mark burning vividly on his forearm.

 _The Dark Mark!_ She felt like she was going to be sick. After all this time, Harry had been right, and Malfoy really had been working with Voldemort, helping to turn Malfoy into this all-encompassing threat, this _monster_ bearing down upon her.

She had been wrong to doubt Harry. She had been wrong to want to ally with Malfoy, wrong to try and convince the others of his worth.

And she was wrong to still be standing in front of him as he closed the distance to her.

Panicking, Hermione shot an arrow, hoping for a lucky hit as she didn't even bother trying to aim; she didn't think she had time. She didn't get a lucky hit, though, as the arrow sailed harmlessly over Malfoy's shoulder.

But it was still enough to put a moment of doubt into the young Death Eater's mind, enough to let him hesitate for just a moment.

And that was all that Hermione needed.

So she fled.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I know this one may have been a little shorter that the couple before it, but I think it works to keep the bloodbath separate from the rest of the action. So hopefully you're all fine with that :)**

 **Expect another update before the end of the week :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks to PeridotPi, Arven di Angelo, harrypotterfan24, MalakUK, PerSonNee, oceanfanfiction, DaughterOfTerpsichore, thaishark3, sillymoose13 and Joshua the Terminian for reviewing! You guys are awesome! :)**

 **So I missed my Sunday update the first week I notice a trend... Shows how reliable I've been of late :/ Eh well, this one wasn't too much later than I said...**

 **I hope you enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

Half an hour had passed since Harry had fled the Cornucopia with Ron, and still they hadn't stopped moving, continually driving east into the hills to put some distance between themselves and the opposition. There, beneath the canopy of beeches and oaks, they had a welcome shelter from the sun, but sadly no protection from the humidity, and Harry could feel the back of his shirt sticking to him as he walked, pressed onto him by his heavy backpack.

Half an hour since he'd cleared out from the bloodbath, and still his heart was racing as he walked in silence, his mind flooded with images of the scene they had left behind them. He hadn't expected so many of his former classmates to react so aggressively, to be so willing to kill. The panic that had gripped the tributes at the Cornucopia had seemed only too easy, too little of a stretch. But the hysteria surrounding the start of the Games brings unease, brings a pressure most people have never experienced before. It seems only too logical to reach for a weapon in that situation, to be able to defend yourself. Wasn't that what Harry himself had done, racing into the Cornucopia to grab whatever he could swing at someone?

All it takes from there is for one person to view another as a threat and the whole thing degenerates into chaos. Pre-emptive strikes became the norm as everyone looked to defend themselves, take out some of the opposition and get out fast, hopefully well-supplied and unharmed.

At least Harry and Ron had managed that, albeit minus a member of their group. They had no idea where Hermione was; for all they knew, she might be dead.

Harry tried not to think about it.

Neither of them had suffered any more than a few minor scratches, and they had two weapons each; an axe and Justin's dagger for Harry, a sword and Terry's knife for Ron. Harry's dagger was tucked into his belt, his axe swinging loosely in his right hand by his side. Ron, who led the way a few metres ahead of Harry, gripped his sword desperately with both hands as they made their slow progress uphill.

As the land began to get steeper, the peaceful sounds of the forest were cut out by a deafening boom like a thunderclap that caught Ron completely off-guard; still highly-strung, he almost jumped out of his skin, screaming profanities and looking to the skies in panic. It was only when the noise repeated five seconds later that both boys realised each crack was the boom of a cannon, marking the death of a tribute. Due to the frenzy at the bloodbath, the Gamemakers often waited until the fighting had died down at the Cornucopia before announcing the dead, whose cannons would be fired successively at the end of the violence. Ron stopped walking, concentrating on counting the cannon blasts as Harry caught up to him. _One, two, three..._

Eventually the cannons stopped, and the birdsong sprung up again, the sounds of the forest reclaiming the silence that had enveloped the boys.

"Nine?" Ron asked Harry for confirmation.

"Yeah," Harry nodded grimly. Already nine of them were dead. Just fifteen left in the Games, less than an hour after they began. The first hour was always the bloodiest.

"Wonder who got hit," Ron said shakily, looking out away from Harry. He was certain there was nobody close to them, but it was best to keep a lookout.

Harry shrugged, not really in the mood to talk about it. He couldn't help feeling that Hermione was one of the fatalities; they hadn't even seen a sign of her at the Cornucopia. It left him with an uneasy feeling in his stomach that seemed to persist no matter what he tried. "I guess we'll find out tonight," he told Ron. "They put the faces of the dead in the sky at sundown, remember?"

"That's right," Ron said with a weak smile. "Finnick told me."

"No point worrying about it now, then," Harry said, looking around at where the pair had stopped. The land had risen steadily for the past half a mile, and Harry could tell that within another mile, they would reach the first of the foothills and begin the climb that would give them a good vantage point over the arena. Barely twenty yards from them was a small brook; one of several trickles of water he had seen weaving through the woods since leaving the Cornucopia. Suddenly realising how exhausted he felt, he asked Ron, "Do you mind if we stop for a break by the brook? I could do with sorting a few things out."

"Good plan," Ron agreed, walking over to the brook and slinging his backpack down at the foot of an ancient oak tree. Crouching down by the side of the stream, he cupped his hands beneath the surface, capturing some water that he splashed over his face in a futile attempt to cool himself down. When he turned back to Harry, his face looked as red as ever.

"First things first," Ron said to Harry, reaching down to unzip the bottom half of his combat trousers, turning them into shorts. "We'd better get these things off." Harry immediately followed suit, and almost immediately felt better for it. Just having a breeze around the lower half of his legs did a lot to help him cool off.

"It's probably best if we put them in our bags," Harry suggested as Ron considered flinging the spare fabric off into the forest. "You never know what conditions the Gamemakers will put us through in the next fortnight." Ron shrugged in agreement and the two boys sat down together to open up their backpacks, finding out for the first time exactly what they had to work with.

Most of Harry's bag was filled with food; enough dried fruit and meat to last the pair of them for a week. Harry also found three metal litre-size bottles for holding water, but only one of them was full.

"We might as well fill the other two with water from the stream," Harry told Ron. "It's running water, so while it might not taste the best, it won't kill us, either."

"I suppose it will do in a pinch," Ron agreed. "Though we should just be careful with how much we drink. Best not to waste any."

Continuing the search through Harry's dark blue backpack, the next thing Ron pulled out was a thick, padded fur-lined coat.

"What are we going to need this for?" Ron asked Harry incredulously. "It's not like the Gamemakers are going to trick us into dying of heat exhaustion, is it?"

"I think we have the coat for the same reason we have adaptable trousers," Harry mused. "The Gamemakers are going to be mixing things up in here for us."

Beneath the coat, there was little else, excluding a blunt pen-knife, which was hardly any use to anyone, and a box of matches.

"What have you got, then?" Harry asked, turning his attention to Ron's slightly smaller red backpack.

What the two boys found came as a complete shock, but a pleasant one.

"It's a tent," Ron said as he started to pull pieces out of the bag. "Well, isn't that kind of the Gamemakers to give us that."

"Yeah," Harry said non-committedly to Ron, still focusing on examining the black tent further. "It looks to be a reasonable size," he concluded with a smile. "Probably sleeps either two or four; either way, it's plenty big enough for us."

"I reckon it was probably meant for the Careers," Ron said. "I mean, if the Games were like normal this year..."

"Possibly," Harry replied, still smiling at the discovery. At least they would have somewhere sheltered for the nights. "Should we get moving again?"

* * *

The afternoon passed without incident as the two boys pressed on eastwards. As they travelled further from the Cornucopia, the forest began to evolve, more and more pines springing up around them, the small brooks becoming less frequent and filled with less water. They had even come across a couple of dried up beds, cracked mud showing where water should be. Eventually, after a long journey extended by regular breaks in the heat of the afternoon, Harry and Ron reached the summit of the nearest of the foothills.

They had abandoned the pine forest a hundred yards down the slope from the peak, the trees replaced instead by grassy scrubland and a rocky outcrop at the very summit. There, at the outcrop, the two boys took a moment to stop and examine the arena, and the journey they had made.

To the south of them, the icy mountains still hung menacingly on the horizon, and beyond them to the east the foothills continued onwards as far as they eye could see. Should they continue to keep walking in the same direction, Harry noticed that they would reach a large river at the bottom of the next valley, which wound its way past the foothills and into the land in the north of the arena, which was far flatter and contained less trees. Eventually the river seemed to reach a lake in the north, partly obscured from Harry's view by the crags that ringed it.

And, back in the west, there were trees stretching onwards into the distance and there, if you looked closely, you could see the small open patch buried in the forest, that minute glint of gold at its centre, three or four miles away. Perhaps not a distance normally associated with a day's walk, but it certainly was the best part of a day away, given the conditions. Harry was almost certain that nobody else had travelled as far as they had on that first day; he was sure everyone else would have found somewhere nice to hole up for the first night or two, becoming more confident to travel further afield as the Games progressed.

He felt that despite being exposed on the hilltop, he and Ron were safer there than they would likely be at any other point in the Games.

As the sun began to fall towards the horizon, the intensity dropped and the temperature dropped towards a tolerable level on the hilltop as the two boys prepared themselves an evening meal from the supplies in Harry's backpack. Tired after eating and not feeling up to travelling much further, Harry made the decision that they would stay on the hilltop for the night. Looking for something to do to keep active and take his minds off of the Games, Ron had suggested to Harry that they make a fire, but Harry was having none of it; lighting a fire atop the hill felt too much like a beacon, calling out the other tributes for a fight.

For the same reason, the decision was made to pitch the tent a hundred yards down the slope, in a more protected location at the edge of the forest. As the two worked together pitching the tent in the fading light, conversation reverted back to the only thing the pair had spoke about all day; the Games. What their plan was. Where they would be going next. Harry hadn't even tried to engage in much more conversation than that all afternoon. He knew that both of them had far too much on their minds for talk.

As the tent slowly took shape in a sheltered spot at the edge of the woods, mostly hidden from view down the hill by two large pine trees, Harry realised it was larger than he had anticipated. Definitely meant to sleep four, the tent had two separate sections; one for sleeping, the other a small living space, though he doubted either of them would use that much.

"We'll take it in turns to sleep," Ron suggested to Harry as they worked. "We'd be safer if someone stayed on guard."

Harry nodded in agreement. "The last thing we need is for us to be unprepared when someone stumbles across the tent in the middle of the night."

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he said, Harry didn't hear him, because at that moment the Capitol anthem began blaring out over the arena, and Ron's voice was completely lost.

"It must be time for the death recap," Harry said, and the two boys slowly made their way up the hill away from the trees to get a clear view of the evening sky.

Katniss had explained to Harry what to expect during the death recap. In the Capitol, replays of each death would be played on television over and over again during the recap, showing the audience exactly how each tribute met their downfall. In the arena, showing replays of each death would give an unfair advantage to certain tributes, so all that Harry would be able to see would be a picture of each tribute and what house they belonged to.

Because of how quickly Harry and Ron had reacted to hearing the anthem, the Capitol seal was still hovering in the sky above them when they first looked up, awaiting the first tribute's face to be shown, for the first of the nine dead to be accounted for.

Suddenly, all of Harry's fear condensed into that moment, standing there with Ron, praying that their best friend was still alive, that she had managed to escape the bloodbath unharmed.

 _Please let her be all right..._

Instead of Hermione's, the first face in the sky belonged to Neville Longbottom.

It took Harry a few moments to take in what he was seeing. He had been so fearful of finding out Hermione was lost that he hadn't even spared a thought for any of the other tributes, any of his other friends who might have lost their lives that morning at the Cornucopia. Such as Neville. Neville, who had always struggled to find his own strengths, had always struggled to show potential, who Harry had rebuffed during training, and who had ultimate lost his life to the arena.

A flush of anger coursed through Harry, as he thought of the injustice of it all, a faceless killer cutting down a boy who had no doubt finally won the battle against his nerves and flung himself into the real fight. Clenching his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms, Harry knew that if he ever found out who had killed Neville, his reaction would be without regret.

A glance at Ron, who was glaring furiously towards the face in the sky - a face neither of them would ever see again - told Harry that his best friend was in the same frame of mind.

"Well, that sucks," Ron said, offering Harry a faltering smile as he noticed him staring. Neither of them really knew what to say.

Harry hoped that Gryffindor would be passed over by the next face so he would know Hermione was safe, so seeing Lavender Brown's face follow Neville's Lavender had been Ron's girlfriend for much of the past six months before the whole thing fell apart shortly before their unexpected departure from Hogwarts. As much as she may have wound Ron up from time to time (especially towards the end), he was far from feeling nothing at her death. But once again, Harry didn't know what to say, so the pair stood together on the hilltop in silence.

As Lavender's face faced from view, both Harry and Ron let out audible sighs of relief when she was replaced by the face of Megan Jones, from Hufflepuff. Hermione had made it! Both of them were trying hard to keep composed as hours of anxiety flooded out of them.

"She's still out there somewhere," Ron said, grinning from ear to ear, and Harry nodded, gripping the axe in his hand tightly as he struggled to contain the elation.

"We'll find her, Ron," Harry said, grinning back. "It's the first thing we'll do."

"Damn right it is," Ron agreed, and then the two boys turned their attention back to the faces in the sky.

It turned out that while Hufflepuff had got off lightly with just one casualty, Ravenclaw had taken the biggest hit, losing four; Mandy Brocklehurst, Lisa Turpin, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot.

Harry started a little as he saw Terry's face looking down on him, remembering his proximity to the boy's bloody end, and any happiness Ron had was completely sapped out of him.

"I killed him," Ron muttered, almost to himself. "I guess part of me hoped he'd found a way out of there, got himself fixed up somewhere, but there's the proof of what I did staring me right in the face," he continued, looking down at the sword in his hand with disgust.

"You can't blame yourself for what happened, Ron," Harry said nervously, seeing the emotion threatening to boil over, tears (of sadness? Anger? Harry could only guess) forming in his friend's eyes. Harry cast his mind back to the morning, replaying the brief fight. "He attacked you, Ron. He knew what he was getting himself into. You just did what you had to."

"That's easy for you to say," Ron snapped. " _You_ didn't have to kill anyone."

"Look, Ron-"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Ron said tiredly. "But it's not the same for you. Maybe you'll understand in a week or so, when you've got, I don't know, Ernie MacMillan's blood on your hands, but right now you just don't get it, and I don't expect you to. It's not about whether it was justified, whether I did the right thing or not. I know I had to kill Terry or I'd have had my throat slit. But that doesn't help me come to terms with anything." Ron paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his sweat-slick hair. Anthony Goldstein's face faded from view, replaced by Millicent Bulstrode's, but neither boy paid much attention.

"I _killed someone_ today, Harry," Ron said shakily. "That's not something you can just get over."

Not for the first time that evening, Harry was speechless. Ron was right; he didn't know what it was like to kill. He'd never done it, so how could he understand?

"Right," Ron said with a tone of finality. "I'm going to get some sleep. You're fine with taking the first watch, aren't you?" Harry nodded, and Ron disappeared down the slope to the tent as the ninth face, Daphne Greengrass of Slytherin, appeared in the sky. After that, there was only the Capitol seal once more as the national anthem of Panem ended with an extravagant flourish, and then there was just the silence of the night and the brilliant blackness of the night sky, punctuated by the glimmering stars.

With nobody about, Harry found himself a good vantage point close to the tent, and set about keeping watch.

It was time to begin the night shift.

* * *

 **A/N: I know a lot of this was filler, but I hope this chapter was OK...**

 **Anyway, if you did enjoy this chapter, please review! It really helps to hear what you all make of the story, so I can decide exactly where I'm taking it in the future. Of course, constructive criticism is welcomed, as always :)**

 **P.S. Concerning muttations in these Games, would you prefer to see 'actual' mutts or HP-based magical creatures (e.g. dragons, acromantulas, dememtors etc), or a mixture of the two? Let me know via PM or review :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks to Arven Di Angelo, Shaky, DaughterOfTerpsichore, harrypotter24, Joshua the Terminian, thaishark3, PeridotPi and oceanfanfiction for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **I've recently been realising what a predicament I've gotten myself into, having to kill off all these awesome characters... Eh well, the show must go on...**

 **A few people have been requesting different perspectives during the Games, and with the story being written in third person, I was planning on doing so anyway. So here we have the first chapter without Harry in it - although he is referenced a couple of times! Still, I hope you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Hermione was shattered.

It was the morning of the second day of the Games, and although Hermione didn't know for sure, she felt as though she'd had less than two hours of sleep. She'd long since abandoned attempting to tame her unruly hair, which now stuck together in sweaty clumps around her face. All of the girls had been provided a thin, low-cut white sleeveless vest to wear beneath their t-shirts, and even before midday the previous day, Hermione knew that she was faced with a dilemma; stick with two layers and risk heat exhaustion, or strip down to her vest and have sunburn to worry about. In the end, she chose the sunburn, and now her skin was bright pink and tender from her shoulders all the way down her arms, sensitive to even the most gentle of touches. She winced as the straps of her backpack rubbed against her shoulders as she walked through the arena alone, her bow always ready for action at any moment.

Having left the Cornucopia in a panic the following morning, picking up a small black backpack as she couldn't face being left with nothing, Hermione had fled northwards, covering a mile within fifteen minutes as she looked to rid herself of her pursuers. There, as the forest thinned out and the sun began to force its way through to her more easily, Hermione finally decided she was safe. For the time being, at least.

For much of the rest of the day, Hermione was stuck. She knew that, having made a hasty retreat from the Cornucopia, she didn't have enough supplies to sustain her for more than a couple of days; she needed a new food source, if nothing else. Knowing that there would be too much activity around the Cornucopia for it to be worth turning around, she looked to make do with what she had, scouring the rolling plains in the north of the arena for any supplies she could find. Aside from a few berries that she felt confident enough were safe to collect, she remained without luck until late afternoon when, exhausted and dehydrated, she reached a large, wide, clear lake, ringed by hills, maybe a mile or two long and a couple of hundred yards wide. Desperately needing to cool off, Hermione stripped off and bathed in the lake for a while, relishing the cool water, offering her a reprieve from the stifling heat.

It was only there in the water that she began to notice the effect the sun's burning rays had been having on her skin; deep pink in places, already starting to peel in others. And she was so far from the shade of the forest...

She knew she had little to choice but to make her way back. So, gathering as much water as she could store from the lake (it was risky, but she really needed to keep hydrated at all costs), Hermione made her way back in to the forest for the night.

As dusk fell, she returned to the shelter of the woods, feeling far worse for wear than she had done that morning. Needing a rest after an exhausting day, she needed somewhere to stay the night. She remembered advice Katniss had given her days earlier; get up high. At her size, there would be a chance that if anyone found her (which, obscured by leaves in the dark, would be highly unlikely), they wouldn't be light or strong enough to climb up and reach her, and most likely wouldn't be good enough with ranged weapons to pick her off. And she had a bow to boot, albeit precious few arrows... She only had four left after her brief encounter with Malfoy.

It took her twenty minutes to find a suitable tree; an old oak with a fat trunk and several sturdy, low-hanging branches that let her get fifteen feet into the air with ease. From there, she wedged herself in a crook for the night, hoping to at least catch a few blissful hours of sleep before the sun rose again.

Then came the death recap at sunset, and peering through the branches at the faces projected into the sky, Hermione got the answer to the question that had been driving her mad all day; Harry and Ron were safe. They had both made it through the day and were still out there somewhere among the fifteen survivors. She hoped they were together, and in somewhat better shape than she was, struggling with an undersized bag of supplies and a weapon she daren't use too much for fear of losing all her arrows and being left with nothing.

But just because Harry and Ron had made it through didn't mean that there weren't losses. A couple of Ravenclaws she had spoken to on occasion, some Slytherins she didn't care much for, and Lavender, who despite their recent hostility, had still shared a dorm with each her for almost six years.

And then there was Neville...

She cried herself to sleep that night.

Woken by the first glimmers of light a full hour before dawn, try as she might, Hermione couldn't get any more rest. Finally giving up as the sun crept over the horizon, she slowly lowered herself back to the ground and set off feeling even worse than she had done the night before. Still, she now had a clear plan; she knew she wouldn't be able to survive much longer with what she had.

An hour and a half later, and Hermione was hanging in the shadows at the edge of the woods looking out across the glade, the golden horn of the Cornucopia shining in the morning sun just sixty metres from her position.

She was expecting resistance; usually, the Career tributes' alliance would take control of the Cornucopia and its supplies. If there was too much for them to carry (this was often the case), the Careers would usually be content to stay put in the centre of the arena; everyone knew the Cornucopia was their turf.

This year, with no Career alliance, Hermione didn't really know what to expect. Seeing the way Malfoy had conducted himself the day before (she shuddered every time she thought of the panic at the Cornucopia), she had dreaded a second encounter with the Slytherins, and was pleasantly surprised to find the Cornucopia guarded by the tributes of Hufflepuff.

 _Hufflepuff?_ _No, that can't be right_ , she thought, but it was. Safe at the centre of a large open space with a good line of visibility, someone had clearly formed a cohesive group and organised an alliance. She could see that they had set up a camping area in the short grass not far from the Cornucopia's mouth; two small black tents (what she'd give for one of them!) and a campfire between them, three figures in white standing nearby. A further two were patrolling the perimeter of the glade almost opposite Hermione. From her distance, she couldn't really tell who was who, but she knew who they all were; Hufflepuff house, minus Megan Jones.

 _How am I going to get anything from this?_ Hermione thought at first, almost admitting defeat without even attempting to steal anything. But as she watched patiently in the shadows, ideas began to spring up within her mind, and soon she had a plan. Or, at least, part of one. The rest she'd have to think up on the spot.

Eventually the three tributes standing in the centre of the glade walked inside the Cornucopia, and Hermione saw her chance. Moving quicker since she had done when she was last in the glade, Hermione dashed out from the woods and into the glade, diving flat onto the ground a third of the way between the trees and the Cornucopia.

Right into a patch of nettles.

The previous day, when she had been running through the long grass in combat trousers, she hadn't even noticed the nettles spread throughout the glade, but now in her modified shorts, she felt the full force of them. Pushing a fist into her mouth to stop herself from crying out in pain, Hermione had to blink back tears as she silently (or, as close to silently as she could manage) rolled away from the painful plants. She felt as though her legs had caught fire.

 _Those weren't ordinary nettles..._

Danger averted for now, Hermione took a moment to catch her breath and accustom herself to the pain searing across her calves, still hidden from the Hufflepuffs in the long grass. Having been in the shade for such a long time, the heat of the day struck her too, the fire igniting once more in her burnt shoulders. Once again, Hermione wasn't sure whether this was all going to be worth it.

She began crawling forwards through the grass towards the Cornucopia but carefully, carefully. She didn't want to dive into any more of those nettles. Soon she was barely twenty metres from the Cornucopia and just five from the edge of the tall grass. For a while she lay there and listened, but she couldn't hear any voices, just the hum of insects around her in the grass, and the occasional flutter of wind. Hermione knew the coast was clear, but even so, she didn't dare to bring herself out of her hiding place and make a dash for the Cornucopia. All she wanted was one bag, one bag of useful supplies, and then she would be getting out of there as fast as she could.

Finally steeling herself for the short dash, Hermione pushed herself up onto her knees and-

"I still can't decide," a voice said thoughtfully. It belonged to Ernie MacMillan. Panicked, Hermione flattened herself to the ground once more, silently cursing herself for her missed opportunity, praying not to be noticed. "We have strength in numbers, but do we use them to attack or defend?"

"Attack," another voice replied, and Hermione knew it was Justin Finch-Fletchley. Faintly, she could hear the sound of feet moving through grass. They were getting closer. "At least, we should attack during the day. At night, we'd do better to try and hold the fort, but now we can scout the area and make sure we claim it for ourselves."

Hermione, unable to see a thing through the tall grass and knowing that the two boys were nearby, completely froze. A quick escape would be unlikely, given the numbers. She had to stay undetected, or she might just pay the ultimate price.

"So if you want to send out scouts, where to?" Ernie asked. The footsteps were still getting closer.

"Well," Justin breathed heavily. "I've suggested to Wayne and Susan that they head off to the south," he continued, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. From the position of the sun, she knew she had approached the Cornucopia from the east. At least now, nobody would be walking past her. "I imagine more people would be attracted to the hills and mountains than to the unknown land to the north, so south is our best bet of finding anyone."

"So what about the rest of us?" asked another, female voice. By a process of deduction, Hermione knew this was Sophie Roper. She sounded even closer than the two boys did. Or maybe she was simply louder. "Do we need to keep three people here?"

"No, probably not," Justin admitted. "But we definitely shouldn't send people on patrol on their own - we all agreed not to yesterday. I'm just apprehensive about leaving someone alone with all of the supplies. What if someone comes to raid us?"

"Oh, do you really think we're in any danger?" Sophie retorted. "It's the second day of the Games. Most people have more than enough problems of their own, and they won't dare attack here because they'll think that there will be more than one person defending this location."

"That's true," Ernie admitted. The voices had stopped moving closer towards her, but to Hermione she felt as though they had already come as close to her as they could be. Forcing herself to take shallow breaths, she had to try had to stop herself from trembling for fear of rustling the grass around her and giving away her position. "I bet most people don't even expect us to have control here."

Justin gave a short laugh that made Hermione feel uncomfortable. "I imagine most think Slytherin must have claimed the Cornucopia."

"Yeah, well we showed them, didn't we?" Ernie replied enthusiastically.

"Maybe," Sophie said calmly. "Though without Nott and Malfoy, the numbers were in our favour anyway." She paused for a moment. "All that matters is that we have control here."

"And that we do," Justin concluded. "So, concerning the patrols, do you think two of us could go on a second one?"

"Sure, why not?" both Ernie and Sophie said together, causing all three Hufflepuffs to laugh.

"Well, that's that sorted," Justin laughed. "Where do you want to go to? If we're saying that the hills will attract the most people and the others are going south, why not go east?"

Hermione froze.

"I don't think so," Sophie replied, and Hermione breathed once more. "We already know what's over there. We have no idea what's beyond the horizon in the north. It would be better to scout around up there."

"Very well, then," Justin concluded. "You know the drill; be back by sundown, or at the first sounding of a cannon. Have fun, you two."

"We'll try," Ernie said as the trio separated, and Hermione heard two distinct sets of footsteps fading away to her right as Sophie and Ernie began their journey north. Justin stood still for a few moments, presumably watching them leave (at least, that was what Hermione hoped, rather than taking a closer look at a girl-shaped hole in the grass close to him), before finally turning away and leaving Hermione alone once more.

Now knowing that she just had Justin to deal with, she felt somewhat braver as the Hufflepuff walked away to inform his two other allies of their task for the day. If there was ever going to be a free path to the Cornucopia, this was it.

She waited a minute for Justin to be well clear of the golden horn, then made a break for it. She was on her feet in an instant, glad of the opportunity to move after several minutes lying completely still, and sprinted straight for the mouth of the Cornucopia, hurdling guy ropes from the Hufflepuffs' tents on the way.

It only took her ten seconds to reach the mouth, and having not managed to reach it the previous morning, she took her first look inside. Boxes and crates were stacked everywhere, loose weapons lying free on the ground. For the first time that day, Hermione smiled. They had so much surplus material that she doubted they would even notice she had taken anything.

Not wanting to risk being caught, she quickly found the largest and heaviest rucksack she could, slung it over one shoulder (she kept her black one on the other) and grabbed a dozen or so arrows out of a quiver lying idle by a crate of fruit, and shoved them into her own. As an afterthought she picked up a dagger from a weapons rack and tucked it into her belt before loading an arrow as she exited the Cornucopia, intending to disappear once more into the -

"Justin, look!" Wayne Hopkins was shouting, tapping Justin on the shoulder and pointing the tip of his sword at Hermione, thirty metres away where the three tributes stood talking. Justin started making a charge towards her, but in an instant Hermione had her loaded bow aimed straight at him, and his run faltered. Hermione had seen ranged weapons around her in the Cornucopia (spears, bows, throwing knives and the like), but none of the Hufflepuffs seemed to be holding anything other than swords and axes.

Being the shortest and weakest of the four, Hermione had no doubt that she would be overpowered should any of them reach her, and it would be remarkably easy, given the two heavy bags on her back, impeding her manoeuvrability. However, while she had her bow loaded and aimed directly at the three Hufflepuffs, none of them dared to charge her down.

Slowly Hermione began to back off, walking backwards away from the Cornucopia while never lowering her weapon. _She was going to make it!_ Sensing that Hermione wasn't going to shoot to kill, the Hufflepuffs began picking up the pace, walking more purposefully towards Hermione, who moved backwards faster and faster until-

SMACK.

Hermione had walked back towards the tents, and had tripped over one of the guy ropes, landing on the floor in an ungainly heap. Frantically trying to pull her bow from under her and prepare an arrow, Hermione noticed the three armed tributes bearing down on her, almost at a run.

Panicked, she fumbled around for an arrow from her quiver, cramming it into position. The moment it was ready, almost without thinking, she let it fly.

The arrow sunk into Justin's right leg just below the knee, taking out his standing leg mid-run, causing his whole body to buckle beneath him as he crashed to the ground on his face, barely ten metres from Hermione. His allies, just a few strides behind, pulled up short as Hermione got back to her feet, another arrow ready for release. Having seen what had happened to Justin, neither of the other two had much more will to put up a fight, and the old stalemate was reached again.

"I think I'll be going now," Hermione eventually said shakily above Justin's strangled cries of pain, and none of the Hufflepuffs made an attempt to stop her she turned and ran off into the forest.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, I welcome any and all constructive criticism you may have to offer.**

 **I had originally planned on showing Draco Malfoy in this chapter, but Hermione's section ended up becoming the whole thing. I guess Draco will have to wait until next time ;)**

 **I'll be back soon with another chapter :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thanks to lunalestrange7, DaughterOfTerpsichore, thaishark3, Joshua the Terminian, oceanfanfiction, harrypotterfan24, santiago poncini20 and sillymoose13 for reviewing! :)**

 **This is a long author's note, so hopefully you'll all be patient with this chapter taking a while to actually get going...**

 **Firstly, I would just like to clarify that despite what it may seem like, the Hufflepuffs are NOT the Careers. There is no equivalent to the Careers in these Games, as nobody has been trained for the Games (although some of the DA members know a thing or two about magical combat), and there is very little showmanship (such as the arrogance often shown by the Careers) within the group of Hufflepuffs. I just reasoned that as Hufflepuffs are credited for their loyalty, they would be likely to stick together for safety. Whereas Slytherin (who some may have expected to be the Career-like presence in the arena) have too many egos to function well as a group, and the whole thing would just fall apart.**

 **So that's where that's come from, in case anyone was wondering.**

 **Also, I've had people ask what Hogwarts house I'd be in... Well, Pottermore says I'm a Slytherin, but I'd say it could be close with Ravenclaw. I imagine that, like Harry and Hermione, the sorting hat would give me the choice. In which case, I'd probably say Slytherin.**

 **This chapter was originally intended to be a part of the last one, but I got a bit carried away writing Hermione's perspective, so I held this scene back for chapter fourteen instead, which has led to more headaches than any of the previous chapters. The reason there was such a pause between posting chapters eleven and twelve was because I was holding them back until I'd got this one sorted (up until that point, I had a couple of chapters' buffer between writing and posting). I've taken three goes at getting this one right, and although I'm still not a hundred percent happy with it, I think this is the best I'm going to get.**

 **The issue is Draco Malfoy. I think he's an amazing character and I love writing his scenes, but his mind-set in this story is _so_ challenging. Chapter one is set just a couple of weeks before the duel with Harry in the bathroom near the end of HBP, so Draco's been living with constant pressure and unease due to his task at Hogwarts all year. Lately, as desperation has set in, he's become so stressed that it's become apparent in his appearance, and being flung into the Games has left him dealing with more of the same stresses. While remaining as prejudiced and arrogant on his day, he's become increasingly angry and impulsive has he has doubted more and more his role as a Death Eater, his anger now funnelled at the Capitol for what they have put him through. While Malfoy does have some compassion, after a year of Occlumency lessons with Bellatrix Lestrange, it's buried deep within him along with the better parts of his character; he gets angry at himself letting the 'softer' parts of his character show through, and becomes violent and impulsive when provoked after months of tension. Plus he's constantly feeling angry and jealous of the other tributes (notably Harry and Hermione) who are threatening to share his spotlight.**

 **All in all, he's just stuck in this negative loop and whenever I try and write his perspective, it all ends up coming as a massive, uncoordinated angsty mess. So hopefully this chapter seems OK...**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Draco was bored.

It was noon on the second day of the Games, and the young Slytherin hadn't had a great deal to do that day. Having made the decision to travel and hunt down other tributes in the cooler weather at dawn and dusk, he had little do during the middle of the day but relax.

Having travelled south from the Cornucopia the previous morning to move towards the mountains at the edge of the arena, Draco had reached the rocky foothills by nightfall the previous evening, and had barely moved since. Now he was lying on his back on an outcrop of grey rocks, basking in the sun. Thanks to an early windfall from Haymitch and Johanna - a bottle of heavy-duty sun cream - he'd been able to strip down to just his shorts, his skin remaining ghostly pale. He'd never bothered using sun cream before (a nasty Muggle invention a couple of his half-blood friends had spoke to him about) and hated the way it felt against his skin, but without a wand he couldn't perform his usual protection charms, so it had to do.

Sitting on the rocks just a few metres above Draco was Theodore Nott, keeping guard, a spear poised and ready in his hand. Theo, Draco's oldest friend, the only person Draco had dared to trust as an ally. Theo had grown up in a family much like his own, part of the higher class of wizarding society, rich and influential while upkeeping the honour of the old pure-blood families.

Proud, quick-witted and intelligent, Theo had known Draco for the best part of fifteen years; their fathers had been associates and friends for years before Draco was born. In many ways, Draco saw Theo as his equal; another boy born into the same world as him (a class above even Crabbe and Goyle, who Draco could only see as pretenders trying to muscle their way into the upper echelon of society by clinging onto him as he tried to follow in his father's footsteps), who matched him spell for spell in magical ability; if it wasn't for that Mudblood Granger, he was sure they'd have been top of the class in anything that they bothered to try in. That was another place that Draco and Theo were in agreement; their families were both listed within the Sacred Twenty-Eight (a list of families who were verified to be entirely pure-blood, as of the 1920s), and they both wore their heritage as a badge of honour, insistent that only the purebloods were fit to claim power in the wizarding world.

In fact, both Draco and Theo had often joked that the only thing they disagreed on was Quidditch; Theo supported the Tornados, but Draco was loyal to his local team, the Wimbourne Wasps. Thinking back nostalgically, Draco remembered going to his first Quidditch game with Theo, a match between the two teams at the Tornados' stadium, when he was five. It was the third of three consecutive years in which the Wasps won the league, a period that Draco's father recalled so sweetly in his mind that Draco doubted he'd ever forget the famous starting line-up; Anastasia Vane, Vincent Lemaitre, Aaron Prewett, Declan Brown, captain Ludo Bagman, Ana Ivanova and young Aidan Lynch playing Seeker, who went on to win the World Cup with Ireland nine years later.

They had trounced the Tornados, of course, who had been merely ordinary that day, the final score three hundred and fifty to eighty. His mother had bought him his first toy broomstick on the way home. He still had it somewhere, hidden away in Malfoy Manor, along with the real brooms he got later on; a Cleansweep Six when he was nine, and then his Nimbus Two Thousand and One when he was twelve, having been picked for the Slytherin house team.

As sudden pang of homesickness rushed through Draco as he realised he would never walk through the front door of his home again. Shaking away the sudden rush of pain, Draco's mind returned to the sweltering heat of the arena and the grim reality of his situation. For a moment he was blissfully free of emotion, free of any negative feeling, and then the constant unease that had surrounded him since he stood on the pedestal the previous morning returned to him, and he remembered exactly where he was.

When Draco was thirteen and on the train travelling to Hogwarts to begin his third year, the Hogwarts Express was stopped and searched by a patrol of Dementors, the prison guards of Azkaban, who were on the hunt for Sirius Black, the first person to ever break out of the prison. Dementors were foul, hooded creatures who fed on happiness, sucking the joy out of people, leaving them with only the worst experiences of their life.

Draco would never forget the feeling that came across him as he broke out in a cold sweat, forced to relive the most terrify moment of his life so far; a dark evening in the Forbidden Forest during his first year, where (so Aunt Bellatrix had told him later) Draco had first encountered the Dark Lord.

Somehow, after the terror of the last year since his father's imprisonment and stepping forward to take the Dark Mark, he couldn't imagine another encounter with a Dementor forcing the same response from him. And despite the stress, the horror, the downright terror of his seemingly aimless and hopeless task to assassinate Albus Dumbledore, he imagined that now a Dementor would make him remember those opening moments of the Games at the Cornucopia the previous morning.

He could feel the panic building as he sprinted towards the centre of the glade, eyes already on a sword near the centre of the supplies, grabbing whatever he could while he searched for Theo. Realising that they were trapped in the centre of the glade with armed tributes on all sides, he'd panicked, unsure of how to get out, and who to try and force his way past.

In the end, he'd settled with attacking the tributes in his way that he hated the most. If nothing else, he knew it would be easier to kill a Ravenclaw than Zabini or Parkinson, wouldn't it? So he acted instinctively, telling himself that he'd have plenty of time to think about his actions once he was alive and safe. He'd taken a couple of swings at Longbottom (he'd paused for a moment with the boy beaten on the floor, not daring to finish him off - he'd been cursing his weakness all day) before he found his first real target, Granger, but she was too scared to challenge him directly. From there, Draco had barged past a group of Hufflepuffs before charging into the woods with Theo. They hadn't seen another tribute since.

Stuck between the recurring flashes of terror and the steady homesickness that had been building throughout the week in the Capitol, along with the anger he felt at the Capitol and the constant unease of being stuck in the deadly arena, Draco realised it would be best not to think of anything at all.

Not that he could manage that...

Suddenly desperate to move, to do something to take his thoughts away from him, Draco sat up suddenly, surprising Theo, who had been watching the tree-line fifteen metres from them with an immense amount of concentration.

"Spotted someone?" Theo asked quickly, gripping his spear tightly.

"No," Draco replied. "I'm just sitting up," he added, and he noticed Theo relax once more. "It's boring just sitting here. I think we should move."

"Don't you remember," Theo reminded Draco. "That we agreed to only search for others at dawn and dusk?"

"Yeah, so what?" Draco shrugged. "I'm driving myself crazy just sitting here. If nothing else, let's find another spot to spend the afternoon, and if we run into anyone, then lucky us, right?" With that, he stood up, pulled his dirty white t-shirt back over his head, slung his rucksack onto his back and held his sword at the ready.

For a while, Theo was silent. "Fine," he finally admitted. "Let's move. It'll give my eyes a rest from just staring at the same trees over and over again."

So the two of them set off once more into the forest. Malfoy led the way, carving a path through the foliage with his sword where it became too thick, Theo walking a few strides behind with his spear at the ready and a knife tucked into his belt.

They had been walking for possibly ten minutes when they came across a small lake, a pool really, twenty or thirty metres in diameter filled with calm, cool water, seemingly untainted by filth or plants. The water was almost crystal clear; _unnaturally clear_ , Draco thought. He didn't dare go near it, for fear the Gamemakers were luring him in towards it. It seemed like exactly the sort of thing scum like them would do.

"I daren't go near it," Draco told Theo, who was tempted to run his hands through the water and splash his face to cool off. "It seems too good to be true. You know what these people are like."

Theo paused for a moment, crouching at the waters edge, then straightened himself up once more. "Maybe," he thought. "With a wand, I'd just take the risk, knowing I could care for myself with it, but without it, I feel vulnerable. As though I won't be able to heal myself if something goes wrong."

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he heard something he hadn't been expecting; the faint sound of other voices, and rustle of people moving through the trees. Theo noticed it too, and the two Slytherins stood in silence for a while, listening.

In less than a minute, two other tributes had burst out of the foliage onto the banks of the lake opposite Draco. Almost taken by surprise, Draco stood staring at them passively for a few seconds, while Theo launched his spear across the small lake at them. It took Draco a moment to identify the tributes as Wayne Hopkins and Susan Bones, both Hufflepuffs. Even before Theo's spear had embedded itself into a tree trunk beside Hopkins' head, Theo was already charging around the perimeter towards them, his knife already drawn. Desperate to catch up, Draco set off after him towards the Hufflepuffs.

The Hufflepuffs seemed well-armed; Hopkins had a sword not dissimilar to Draco's own, and Bones had an axe in one hand, a mace in the other. For a moment, Hopkins looked as though he was going to make a stand, his sword held out shakily in front of him, but as the two Slytherins got closer and closer, his resolve wavered and he followed his ally into the trees.

Both Draco and Theo were fast, and slowly they began to close the gap to the Hufflepuffs ahead of them, sprinting as they hurdled over thick tree roots and tore through bushes, ducking beneath dangerous low branches that threatened to take their heads off if they weren't careful. Draco was slightly faster than Theo, and was alongside him by the point that Hopkins was clearly in their sights; his ally had run on ahead; her loyalty could only be extended so far.

Panicked and continually looking back over his shoulder to monitor the progress of his pursuers, it was no surprise to Draco that Hopkins soon found himself caught out by a dangerously high root, catching his trailing foot against the wood and sprawling to the floor in a heap, taking the skin off his elbows and left shoulder as he landed.

"Keep him there!" Theo shouted as Draco pulled up, desperate to catch at least one tribute that day. Theo had kept running to try and pursue Susan Bones.

"Up you get," Draco said firmly, reaching down to pull a terrified Wayne Hopkins back to his feet, who kicked and swung with his fists wildly, getting a lucky hit on Draco's shins, forcing him to break his grip and Hopkins scrambled away, picking up his sword from the floor and holding it out in front of himself once again.

Draco smirked, dropping into his well-practiced fencing stance. "So that's how you want to play, is it?" he laughed, forcing Hopkins to blush bright pink and charge at him.

It was all too easy for Draco, really. A swift parry, a couple of strokes to force the weapon from Hopkins' hands, and just one more movement had the Hufflepuff pinned with his back against a beech tree, the tip of Draco's sword just pressing into his throat. There was nowhere for him to go.

A sudden rush flowed through Draco's veins as he realised that Hopkins was entirely at his mercy. He had never quite got used to the rush of having someone completely under his control. He couldn't help but smile as he realised his situation.

"How come you're down here?" Draco asked forcefully as Hopkins whimpered on the end of his sword. "What happened to the rest of your lot?"

"No... Draco... Please, just let me-"

"WHERE ARE THEY?"

"At the Cornucopia!" Hopkins said, panicked as Draco increased pressure on his throat. A thin stream of blood was now running along the flat side of the blade pressing into his neck. "We're using the Cornucopia as a base, where we keep all our supplies and plan our moves."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Draco said, laughing, releasing a small amount of pressure from his sword, much to Hopkins' relief. "So who else are you with? The rest of Hufflepuff."

"Yes," Hopkins replied breathlessly. It was easy to see the panic in his eyes. "Now please Draco, leave me-"

"Have I missed anything?" Theo interrupted, strolling onto the scene with a big smile plastered across his face. Draco raised his eyebrows at him. "No luck with Bones," Theo admitted to him. "She was too far ahead. Still, we got one of them, didn't we?" Both boys turned to look again at Hopkins.

"Please," Hopkins begged. "I promise, I'll just get up and leave, I swear..." Draco quickly tuned out the boy's gushing.

"Any reason why he's still alive?" Theo asked him.

"He's been telling me all about the other Hufflepuffs," Draco laughed, relishing the power he now had. "Isn't that right, Hopkins?" He laughed before he even bothered to listen to the boy's response. "They're all up at the Cornucopia," he explained to Theo. "Got all the supplies gathered together in one base."

"All four of them?"

"Well, technically there's still five of them..."

"Yeah, whatever," Theo said, waving a hand at Draco dismissively. "It might worth going up there and taking a look ar-"

Theo cut himself off as he heard a snap above him, and the crunch of fallen branches as they hit the floor around him. Cursing in shock, he turned around to find a thin white box on the floor behind him, attached to a silver parachute.

"I guess Haymitch and Johanna have something else for us," Theo said loudly, as though he wanted to rub their sponsor support in Hopkins' face. "You had any of these yet?" The young Hufflepuff shook his head.

"Pity," Theo said in mock sympathy, the way Draco often heard him talk to half-blood scum around school. Then Draco looked on as Theo's eyes widened when he opened the white box, before saying in a perfectly calm voice, "Draco, I believe this is yours."

Draco didn't move his sword from Hopkins' throat as he watched Theo approach him, passing over the ten inches of hawthorn that Draco knew better than any other object in the world.

The Gamemakers had given him his wand back.

Despite the elation, the first thought that ran through Draco's mind was, _Why? Why have the Gamemakers given me my wand now, of all times?_

And then suddenly he understood.

"Theo, please hold Hopkins back," he said, lowering his sword as Theo wrapped the boy's arms back around the tree trunk, pinning him in place. Then, with a grin still on his face, the rush that came with his power still yet to fade, he strode up to Hopkins and thrust his left forearm towards the boy's face.

"Recognise this?" Draco smiled, nodding towards the Dark Mark, which stood out brightly on his inner forearm against his pale skin. He still felt somewhat uneasy with showing the Mark to everyone, having been forced to keep it covered up for so long, but he loved having everyone finally see who he really was. That he was someone with a position; someone to pay attention to.

Laughing as Hopkins' fear seemed to amplify tenfold, Draco took a couple of steps back, his wand held out in front of him.

"Crucio."

* * *

 **A/N: Some readers have asked for me to keep a list of who is still alive, to be updated each chapter, so here goes.**

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day one), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley**

 **Hufflepuff: Susan Bones, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Wayne Hopkins, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **(Still)** **A/N:** **Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **I have had requests to keep the chapters to have just one perspective in each chapter. However, I was originally planning on keeping the story to the original 27-chapter format of the original novels, but in order to fit all of the story that I want to tell into 27 chapters, I'll need to double up the perspectives in places.**

 **So I have a question to ask all of you: Would you rather I write more chapters of around this length to keep perspectives separate, or stick to the 27-chapter format with somewhat longer chapters and often two perspectives in the same chapter like the bloodbath chapter? Let me know via PM or review :)**

 **I'll be back soon with the next chapter :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks to lunalestrange7, sillymoose13, PeridotPi, oceanfanfiction, DaughterOfTerpsichore, thaishark3, materialgirl079, Arven Di Angelo and harrypotterfan24 for reviewing! I really appreciate the support - it's always good to hear what you have to say, as it helps shape future chapters :)**

 **I think I'm going to be limiting myself to one perspective per chapter, and if that means exceeding the 27-chapter limit I had originally intended, then so be it :)**

 **Now that we have a good idea what's going on in the Games, this is where things start to get interesting...**

 **This one took over eight hours to write, so I really hope you all enjoy reading the chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

They heard the screams from a mile away.

Harry, at least, had been expecting something. That day had been far too quiet for himself and Ron, who had been left to wander around the arena as they pleased. But Harry knew that if nothing else, the Hunger Games was meant to be entertaining for the audience, and that meant that if he was getting an easy time, someone else most certainly wouldn't be.

He supposed it was a mercy that it was a boy's voice. Hermione, at least, was spared.

High up on the mountains in the south of the arena (the higher they climbed, the more exposed they became to cooling winds), they could do nothing in the silent hills but listen as the tortured boy's resolve slowly melted and the screams died, stuttering and faltering into oblivion. Eventually all was silent; a pause pregnant with expectation, and then the cannon; another tribute had been lost.

"No idea who that was," Ron muttered as the two boys took to their feet again, continuing their climb up the slopes into the mountains. He'd been unusually quiet all day. After what they'd been through in the past day, Harry chose to give him his space.

"Well, we've only got a few hours before we find out," Harry replied grimly. "At least it's not Hermione, though."

"Yeah," Ron brightened slightly at that. "I hope it's Malfoy."

* * *

Six hours later, and the death recap told them that Wayne Hopkins was the only tribute lost that day. Two days in and fourteen tributes were still alive as Harry and Ron pitched their tent on the rocky ground, high up on the mountainside.

They had spent their evening high up on the rocky slopes close to a bright tower of white marble and glass (along with some other man-made material Harry didn't recognise and Ron wouldn't have heard of), driven up through the rocky ground like a shard of glass. There seemed to be no way inside the structure, and content that there would be nothing else of interest beyond the tower, the two boys had spent the evening in its shadow.

However, within half an hour of the death recap the weather had broken, two days of merciless heat replaced by a colossal thunderstorm; thunder rolled off the hills as lighting cracked through the air over the boys' heads. At first they had insisted that, like all thunderstorms, the danger would pass harmlessly over their heads, but soon the wind was threatening to pull the tent from the ground and the horrendous rain was finding its way through every tiny gap, lightning actually hitting the peaks of the mountains all around them.

At that point, the two boys had had enough, and realised they needed shelter. Bottling up their nerves, they ventured out into the storm, tearing down their tent and stuffing everything into their bags. They were cold, they were soaked, and they were scared. As Ron was desperately cramming the bag of tent pegs into the tent bag, the night sky split apart overhead and lightning struck the tower beside them.

It sounded as though a bomb had gone off. Harry must have jumped about ten feet backwards, and Ron's language would have even made his brothers blush. For a moment they were back in daylight as the immense heat from the strike rushed past them, the once-white tower now glowing orange with the heat of the strike, lighting Harry's path down the hill.

And so they both ran for it.

It took them a while in the terrible conditions of the storm as they slipped, slid and (in places) fell down the side of the mountain, but eventually Harry and Ron found a small cave at the base of the mountains at the edge of the woods, where they decided they would see out the storm. Despite being completely drenched and in nothing like comfort, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep almost soon as he lay back. He was exhausted.

* * *

When he woke the following morning, Harry was relieved to see that the storm had passed. Waking Ron and grabbing their packs, the two boys ventured out into the day. The sun may have been up, but the temperature was definitely lower than it had been. It was still summer, but to Harry it felt more like a British summer than the unnatural heat and humidity of the previous two days. In all senses, more comfortable conditions than the day before.

"So," Ron said, as he took in the view of dense forest spread out in front of him, rocky hills to the back. "Where now?"

Harry had thought about this too, but had no real answer. "We need to go somewhere in the sun, so that we can dry everything out."

Ron nodded. "My feet are still soaked."

"So we have two choices that I know of," Harry continued. "We either head back into the mountains, or we move north towards that lake we saw on the first day. There was plenty of open space up there."

"Given the choice, I don't think I'd ever want to go back into the mountains," Ron replied, conjuring up images of the storm in his mind. "Let's go north."

* * *

They had risen late in the morning, and it was afternoon before they passed close to the Cornucopia at the centre of the arena, having travelled at least four miles from the cave where they had spent the night. The day was cooler than its predecessors, something Harry was grateful for, as he needed less fluids to stay alert, and meant that he didn't mind when they didn't stop for lunch. Harry just kept walking through the thick forest, now almost entirely made up of deciduous trees, making idle conversation with a more talkative Ron until-

" _LISTEN._ "

Both boys stopped dead in their tracks. Faintly, in the distance, they heard a girl scream.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron jumped, pulling out his weapons in an instant, scanning the woods around him. The voice had been unlike anything that Harry had ever heard before; it was both a low whisper and piercing scream at the same time, neither male nor female, and seemed to come from every direction all at once, as though he'd only heard it in his head. Which was impossible; Ron had clearly heard the voice too.

Mirroring Ron, Harry held his weapons out in front of him, gripping them firmly, standing back to back with his best friend. He was certain not to be caught off guard...

"No idea, Ron," Harry replied shakily. His voice was the only sound in the arena, other than his shallow breathing and the frantic shuffling of two pairs of feet. "Absolutely no idea."

" _The arena is ready to play a game,_ " the voice continued, and then for a minute, all was silent, until the noises of the forest began to filter back through the silence.

And that was when the chaos began. Screams, panicked shouts, moans of effort and pain. No longer peripheral, eerie, demonic screams, but _real_ screams, made by _real_ people. From what Harry judged to be just a couple of hundred metres to his right.

Both Harry and Ron spun around to face the new, even more terrifying sounds. They stood for a moment and listened, unsure of whether to run towards the danger away from it. All the while, Harry kept feeling that there was something familiar about the voices...

"Hermione," Ron muttered, taking a couple of steps towards whatever was happening. "HERMIONE!"

Suddenly they were both off, sprinting through the woods, hurdling tree roots and crashing through bushes, desperate to close the distance between themselves and whatever was happening to Hermione, desperate to do anything to stop her from getting hurt...

They tore down a short slope covered in ivy and into a small dell, at the bottom of which were three figures. As they neared the action, Harry recognised Hermione, pushing herself backwards on the ground, a bow held out in front of her at her pursuers, the Patil twins. Parvati led the way, nursing one arm, the other holding a sickle. Padma tailed close behind as the pair closed in on Hermione, a knife ready to strike.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Ron bellowed at the girls, seeing red and charging down the hill towards them as Hermione, panicked, shot an arrow, straight at Parvati. Harry, who was too stunned to move, did nothing as he watched the arrow sink into Parvati's hip, watched her scream as she fell to the floor. Padma, stricken at her sister's collapse, pulled her sibling back to her feet and hurriedly dragged her up the slopes and away.

"GO ON, RUN, YOU COWARDLY..." Ron hollered after them, chasing to the top of the slope after them, waving his sword above his head and pointing it threateningly at the sisters as they fled, all the while spewing profanities. He was furious. Harry had moved down the slope towards where Padma's knife had lay, picking it up as Hermione dusted herself off and returned to her feet.

"You OK, Hermione?" Ron asked nervously, calmer now that the danger was past. "What've you hurt?" He asked worriedly.

"Nothing," Hermione replied hotly, clearly still flustered. "I'm fine, thanks. I just fell over." And then she burst into tears, throwing herself into Ron's arms as she cried.

"Whoah, er... You sure you're all right, Hermione?" Ron asked nervously. Harry couldn't help but smile.

* * *

"I was worried I'd never see you again," Hermione explained, basking in the sun by the side of the lake. The smile still hadn't come off her face. "After what happened at the Cornucopia..."

"We could say the same about you," Ron said, lying in the sun beside her. All around them lay various objects from Harry's rucksack and the components of the tent from Ron's, which were still drying off. Harry sat just a few feet away on the other side of Hermione. Hermione had been too shaken when they had found her a couple of hours earlier to explain much about how she had got into such a state, but Harry could see that she'd been through a lot. Her hair was a complete mess, her face and arms were grimy, she had a shallow cut possibly six inches long down her left arm, and her shins were heavily bandaged. More than ever, Harry felt like the Gamemakers had been kind to him since the start of the Games.

"Why don't you tell us your story first?" Harry said to Hermione. "What's happened to you these past three days?"

"I'm not even sure where to begin," Hermione said tiredly.

"How about the start?" Ron suggested cheekily, and Hermione glared at him, making both boys laugh.

"We'll gloss over the Cornucopia," Hermione said. "I didn't get much out of it, just a couple of bits and pieces. A bow, but few arrows. There was no way that I'd survive without help. So, yesterday morning, I went back."

"What's going on there?" Harry asked. "We walked close to it this morning, but didn't dare get too close. You told us that someone powerful would be using it for a base, so we made sure to steer clear."

"Good," Hermione said. "Don't go near it. Hufflepuff have control of it."

"Hufflepuff?" Ron snorted. "What are they going to do? Hug someone to death?"

"You'd be surprised when there are five of them," Hermione continued, trying her hardest to ignore Ron's remarks, but not completely managing it. "But anyway, I went in for a closer look, sneaking through the grass. Oh, it was terrifying, knowing that if I was caught..." Hermione let her voice trail off for a moment before continuing her story. "I was stupid. I walked in and thought I could get something without being spotted. In the end they caught up to me and I had to fight my way out."

"So that's what happened to Wayne Hopkins?" Ron said, jumping to conclusions a little too eagerly. "You killed him?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head frantically. "I shot Justin Finch-Fletchley in the leg. That put the others off enough for me to get out without major injury. Though my legs are pretty roughed up," Hermione added, gesturing to her bandages.

"Who did that?" Harry asked.

"Nobody," Hermione replied. "It was the nettles. I wasn't thinking..."

"Nettles?" Ron said with a smirk. "You've bandaged your legs up because of some _stinging nettles_?"

"They're not like the ones we have back home, Ron," Hermione explained. "They're horrid. I'd rather go back and face the Patils again than be stung another time. I'm amazed you haven't been stung yet, either of you. Which I take it you haven't, as you're not showing me much sympathy?" Both boys shook their heads. "You must be lucky then," Hermione continued. "After all, they're everywhere."

"Are they?" Ron said.

"Have you not even _seen_ them?" Hermione asked. "Harry?" she added, as Ron shook his head.

"No," Harry said shortly.

"You two are _so_ inobservant!" Hermione quipped.

"To be fair to us, though, Hermione," Ron said. "We've been in the mountains most of the time, and there isn't really much of anything there except rocks."

"That's true," Hermione said thoughtfully. "So I suppose that makes sense. Hopefully you weren't up there last night during the storm..."

"That's why all this is soaked, Hermione," Harry explained, gesturing to the contents of his backpack laid around them. "I think it would have been dry by now if we'd had some sort of shelter."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said softly. "It must have been terrifying! When the lightning struck that tower..."

"Believe me, we know," Ron replied. "We were about fifty feet from it when the lightning hit." Hermione's eyes widened in worry.

"There's no point fretting about it now, Hermione," Ron said. "We've already survived it. And anyway, we're meant to be talking about you, aren't we?"

"I guess," Hermione shrugged. "Where was I? Oh yes, I remember. Pinching the bags from Hufflepuff. After that, I just went and hid out in the woods last night and this morning, until I heard that terrible voice... It was horrible. It completely caught me off guard, and I was absolutely terrified." She gave an involuntary shudder. "The Patils must have been nearby and heard me panic. There was no other way they could have found me. And you two know the story from there," Hermione finished with a small smile.

"I wouldn't blame you for any of that, Hermione," Ron said after a pause. "We both jumped out of our skins too."

"What I'd like to know," Harry said inquiringly. "Is what happened at the Cornucopia. We waited for a while, searched around, but we couldn't find you."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I tried to get to you two, too. I sprinted in as we'd agreed to do, tried to grab what I could, but before I knew it I was in the thick of things and I got caught up in the violence... That was before I ran into Malfoy." Both Harry and Ron tensed beside her, and Hermione took another deep breath to clear her voice. "He was armed already, with a sword, and I only had my bow..." Another pause. Hermione seemed visibly shook up now. "And I just stood there watched as he got closer, blood already on his sword - already taken a hack at someone else, he had, and I looked at his arm... _His arm_..."

Hermione sat up suddenly and looked straight at Harry. "Harry, you were right all along," she said shakily. "His arm... He had the Mark. Malfoy's a Death Eater."

For a moment, Harry sat at the side of the lake staring across the water with conflicting emotions running across his mind; part triumph for his hunch being proved correct, half fear at the prospect of facing yet another of Voldemort's supporters, just when he thought he'd finally got away from them all. Well, it was only Malfoy, but now Harry new he was a legitimate threat, and somehow that made him even more nervous, despite now knowing for definite what he was up against.

"Well," Ron said brightly, trying to find something witty to say to lighten the mood, but failing after just one word. "Well..."

And the three of them sat there together on the shore, for a moment all three of them adrift in their own personal boats of panic and misery, as a thin white box floated down to them from the sky.

* * *

An hour later, and Harry's sun-dried supplies had been packed into his bag once more, and as evening drew in the trio set off along the lakeside in search of somewhere to spend the night. As they followed the lake north, it seemed to go on an on forever, curving past a hill that Harry had originally thought was past the end of the water, and into a new stretch of lake. "There, a mile down the shore from Harry, was a tower at the edge of the lake, peering ominously over the water.

As the Capitol anthem blared out across the arena (there were no deaths that night), Harry was finally close enough to know what the tower was. It was a lighthouse... Only it didn't look to be in particularly good shape.

Considering it as a satisfactory shelter for the night with a good viewpoint over the lake, Hermione led the way up the rough stone steps to the old front door. Even with her wand held tightly in her right hand, she didn't feel very confident approaching the building. Sun had set of the arena, but there were still tinges of pink and purple floating above the horizon. The temperature of the day was ramping off and the wind was almost making her shiver for the first time since the Games began.

Walking right up to the door, Hermione paused, Harry and Ron bunching up on the stairs behind. The tower was circular, possibly seven or eight metres wide. Once upon a time it had been white, but now the paint had faded to cream tinged with yellow in places, and it had flaked off in others. The wooden door was creaking slightly in the wind, open six inches, exposing the black insides of the building.

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Harry asked behind her. "Is it locked?"

"No," Hermione said quietly. "It's just... Don't any of you get a bad feeling from this?"

"Sort of," Ron admitted. "But I'd rather be inside than hanging around out here ready to get attacked."

"One minute," Hermione told her friends, then held up her wand and muttered, " _Homenum Revelio_."

 _There's nobody in there, Hermione,_ she thought to herself. _Just get over it and open the door._

Lighting her wand, she slowly pushed open the door with her left hand and crept inside the lighthouse.

The room she walked into took up the entirety of the ground floor of the lighthouse. A spiral staircase began on one side and began to loop around the room and up to the second floor above them. In the centre of the room was a decrepit table, on which sat a tattered newspaper, a half-full glass of water and a mouldy round of toast. A kitchen area at the back of the flat looked as though it had been left mid-use. Cobwebs hung from every surface. The dry husk of wasp's nest lay in tatters in on the floor by Hermione's feet.

She moved into the room slowly, letting Harry and Ron enter behind her, the wind blowing the door shut behind her. With no windows on the ground floor, the trio had to view the room through the cold white light of Hermione's wand. Ron shuddered, noticing all of the spider's webs.

"You're right, Hermione," he said quietly. "There's something not quite right about this place."

Hermione, however, seemed to be confident enough to walk across the room and pick up a pair of small gas lamps from a shelf. Lighting them with her wand, she passed one to both Harry and Ron.

"There," she said, trying to sound like she wasn't nervous. "You two can go and explore the rooms above, while I set about tidying this one. The best thing we can do now is shut ourselves in for the night and have a safe night's sleep."

Harry nodded, and led a reluctant Ron upstairs while Hermione set about tidying up the ground floor. It turned out that each of the lighthouse's three floors was more or less identical. Each floor had just one room, each one in the same state of decay; as though the owner had just got up and left at a minute's notice fifty years before, and never bothered to return. He hadn't even bothered to lock the front door.

In the top room (a bedroom, with moth-eaten bedsheets and mould creeping up the walls), Harry and Ron stopped for a moment to look out a window across the lake, the eerie light of the moon leaving a glimmer on the surface of the water, the hills silhouetted on the far shore.

"I don't like looking out there," Ron said nervously. "This whole place feels creepy, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded, and the two set about lighting gas lamps on the walls on both floors, closing the shutters on the windows and completely isolating themselves from the outside world; until the morning, at least.

Feeling a little safer within the tower, though still not entirely at ease, Harry and Ron were walking down the stairs to the ground floor when-

" _However hard you try, you can't keep out the night._ "

It was the voice again. Cold, inhuman, unnerving, and very much terrifying. Ron jumped so much he staggered into Harry, and the pair tumbled down the last six steps together, landing in a heap on the cold floor at the bottom. Above them, they could see Hermione standing in the centre of the room, her face lit eerily in the wandlight, her eyes wide in fear.

BANG.

In an instant, the door blew open and all of the shutters were blasted open, snuffing all of the gas lamps and leaving the trio standing in the near pitch-black ground floor of the lighthouse, illuminated only by the moon.

"Can we leave now, Hermione?" Ron said nervously, a definite tremor in his voice. "Please?"

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day three), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley**

 **Hufflepuff: Susan Bones, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Can we get past 100 with this one? :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: We're past 100 reviews, so special thanks go to santiago poncini20, DaughterOfTerpsichore, Shaky, Arven Di Angelo, roonialwazlib29, harrypotterfan24, sillymoose13, PeridotPi and lunalestrange7 for reviewing! It's always awesome to hear what you all think about the story, as it helps me decide where to take it in the future :)**

 **I noticed a couple of readers seemed to be confused where Hermione got her wand from in the last chapter, so I figured I'd clear things up for everyone. I mentioned near the end of the chapter that a thin white box was floating down towards Harry, Ron and Hermione - the same packaging that Draco's wand had been in at the end of Chapter Fourteen. As such, I assumed many people would make the link, but it's perfectly possible that the readers just skimmed over the line or whatever, but for whatever reason, I hope that solves the confusion :)**

 **This chapter features a set of muttations I once used in my popular Hunger Games fanfic _75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots_ (which I know at least a few of my readers have read), and I liked them so much I couldn't help bringing them back. So if some of you find them familiar, there's the reason why.**

 **As ever, this chapter has taken longer than most to be posted because it's Malfoy-centric, and I continually worry I'm taking him out of character (even though he should be fairly OOC considering everything he's been through so far in the story), so hopefully this is worth the wait.**

 **Also, I've been dabbling in creating some new magic in this chapter. Or, more to the point, making adaptations to certain spells. Hopefully that seems OK with all of you...**

 **Lastly, I hope that you all enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

Draco had woken that morning to a cloudy sky. With a new sense of safety after receiving his wand the previous afternoon, Draco and Theo had slept soundly through the night with little incident. There had been a cannon the previous evening, shortly after dark, as that chilling voice had spoken once more.

Clearly, someone hadn't managed to keep out the night. Draco wouldn't know who until that evening.

Having spent the previous evening working their way into the mountains, that morning Draco and Theo quickly reached a shining white tower of glass and marble, standing proud and alone among the rocky mountains. They found the remnants of settlement there (clearly they weren't the first tributes to have reached the site, and they doubted that they would be the last), but there were no signs of other tributes around them as they rested by the tower. Theo had taken more of an interest to the structure than Draco had (once he had seen there was no entrance, he quickly became bored of staring at it). Theo was more curious, more persistent.

"There's got a be a point to it, Draco," Theo had told him, pacing aimlessly, as he often did when thinking. "I mean, why build it if it does nothing?"

"I haven't a clue, Theo," Draco had replied tiredly, already more interested in smashing rocks together with his wand while he waited for Theo to be done searching.

"Perhaps it's just been built to confuse us," Theo had theorised in response.

"Yeah," Draco had shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first thing, would it?"

"No," Theo had replied. "That voice... I still don't know what that was all about. What did it say first again?"

"The arena is ready to play a game," Draco had repeated to him.

"And then, 'However hard you try, you can't keep out the night.' It just makes no sense!" Theo had moaned irritably.

"Don't worry about it," Draco had replied. He wasn't going to waste time fretting about events beyond his control. "A voice isn't going to hurt anyone."

And so the pair of Slytherins had set off back down the hills into the woods with more questions unanswered than when they left the forest the previous evening. Once again, the two had decided to rest through the heat of the day (even though today was cooler than previous days in the arena, with a humid, overcast sky), and now Draco was leaning against the base of an old oak tree, not far from the lake where they had spotted the Hufflepuffs two days before. They hadn't seen another tribute since.

Much of the last two days had been spent hunting for other tributes as the two Slytherins were determined to take a check a couple more names off the list, but so far there had been no successes. The arena was just too large for the two of them to cover any meaningful distance.

It was a problem that had been bugging Draco for days.

But finally, he thought he had a solution.

"I've been thinking," Draco began, out of the blue. Theo, who had been sitting nearby eating an apple, looked up at him.

"What?" Theo asked.

"We need to split up during the days," Draco suggested. "We can cover twice as much ground if we're separated. We'll be more likely to hunt down the others that way."

Theo paused for a moment, thinking. He took a deep breath. "I agree," he said finally. "But that still causes problems. What happens if one of us runs into trouble? We can't watch each other's backs if we're miles apart."

"I know," Draco said with a smile, and stood up, walking into an area of open space just a few yards from his resting position. Theo followed him. Draco walked around in circles for a minute or two, kicking around plants and dirt until he had what he was after; a small, round, grey pebble. Holding it in his left hand, he pointed his wand at the stone, muttered " _Geminio_ ," and there were two identical pebbles in his hand.

"What are you getting at?" Theo asked him, completely bewildered as Draco set the two pebbles down on a small rock beside the pair of them.

Draco didn't answer him, at least not directly. "I trust that you are familiar with the Protean Charm?" He asked Theo confidently.

"Yes, but I can't do it," Theo replied. "It's a seventh-year NEWT spell. But I understand that it forces changes on one object onto copies of it."

"Well, we're lucky that one of us can perform a Protean Charm, aren't we? _Proteus_ ," Draco replied, handing one of the two pebbles to Theo, who took it reluctantly. "I've cast a Protean Charm on these pebbles, along with another charm which means that when I touch my stone, it will glow green at my touch. Then the Protean Charm kicks in, causing your stone to light up, and you know what happens then, right?"

"It'll heat up," Theo said. "That's how the Protean Charm lets you know that the know that the object has changed state." Theo frowned, biting his thumb as he thought. "I still don't understand what you're trying to show me, Draco."

Draco sighed. "I got the idea from this," he explained, pointing to the Dark Mark on his arm. "When we wanted to summon the Dark Lord, we would press into our Marks, causing them to change colour and heat up in a similar way to these stones. And only once our marks were in this altered state would we be able to Apparate to him."

"I think I'm starting to get it," Theo said. "We let each other know we're in trouble with these stones, which I presume we'll keep in our pockets, and then we'll somehow Apparate to each other?"

"That's the gist of it," Draco replied with a smile. "The issue is the second half."

"Why don't you just use whatever spell _he_ used when he made the Mark?" Theo suggested.

"That spell was invented by the Dark Lord," Draco said sourly. "He was the only one who knew it. I'm going to need to take some time to come up with the closest mimic of it that I can."

"Then, by all means, get practicing," Theo said, and Draco nodded. Secretly, he was very much looking forward to the challenge. This process, of finding a problem and modifying charms and spells (or possibly inventing something entirely new) to overcome it was something that all true pure-blood families prided themselves on; being the members of the community who continued to push the boundaries of magic further and further. Nearly all the Death Eaters had their own modified curses and jinxes, the secrets to which they guarded with as much ferocity as their lives. Snape, Dolohov, even his Aunt Bellatrix had several curses they kept to themselves.

It felt to Draco as though he was finally elevating himself to a new level.

He had an idea what he wanted to do, but not how he was going to be able to do it. Striding purposefully into a clearing, scattering a flock of birds as he did, he set about getting to work.

* * *

"I think I've got it," Draco said triumphantly to a bored Theo a couple of hours later, grinning as he held out the stone towards him.

"Finally done?" Theo said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's going to work this time?"

"More than I have been," Draco muttered. "I'm attempting to combine the several effects that I'm after into one spell... Well, here goes. _Portus Loci_." Draco pointed his wand at the two stones laid on a rock in front of him, and the pebbles glowed blue for a moment, before the light faded away and they reverted to their normal state.

"Now to see if this works," Draco said, more to himself than Theo, picking one pebble up and throwing it into the centre of the clearing. It bounced twice (scattering those pesky birds again - they'd been hanging around all afternoon) before coming to rest in the grass, still glowing green.

"So I've just activated the Protean Charm on the pebbles," Draco said, gesturing at the stone he hadn't thrown, which was glowing green by his side. "That's the same as when my Mark burns. Now comes the hard part. My Mark works by guided Apparition, but to be honest, I have no idea how to manage that. So I've used a modified Portus Charm to convert the pebbles into Portkeys, but only once they are in their altered state caused by the Protean Charm. Make sense?"

"Yes," Theo replied, nodding thoughtfully. "One of us touches our stone to sound the alarm, and then the other touches their burning hot stone to travel to whoever needs help. It makes sense. The only uncertainty I have is that I thought Portkeys transported to destinations. If we're moving around, how will that work."

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Draco said shortly. "The charm I've ended up with - _Portus Loci_ \- works by transporting you to any point within five metres of the other stone. It's the closest that I'm going to be able to get to guided Apparition."

"Excellent," Theo said, clapping his hands together and standing up from his perch on a fallen tree trunk. "Are we going to test it, then?"

"That's what I'm in the middle of doing. The only thing that I'm worried about is that as there is little control of where we could end up, there's an issue that we'll appear half inside a tree, or something like that."

"Doesn't that make it a dangerous?" Theo asked hesitantly.

"Yes, but in an emergency - which is what these are for - the risk is worth it. Right?"

"Right," Theo said, but he still wasn't convinced.

"Anyway, that's why I've thrown the other stone over there, so that there's nothing within five metres of it for the test," Draco explained.

"This seems a lot like the risks of splinching from Apparition to me," Theo said. "The last thing you need to do is hurt yourself testing something stupid like this."

"Trust me, Theo," Draco said softly. "I'll be fine." And then he grabbed the stone by his side, folded up into the air and was gone.

Theo spotted him appear just a couple of metres from the stone, grinning madly as he spun around to face Theo. Laughing, Theo jogged over to him, ducking beneath a couple of low-flying birds as he ran.

"I guess I was wrong to doubt you," Theo said, clapping Draco firmly on the shoulder.

"Just put one of these in your pocket and we'll be safer," Draco said, handing Theo one of the stones, careful not to touch his own for the fear of travelling once more. He used a piece of fabric to pick up his own still-active stone and slide it into the pocket of his combat trousers.

Theo was opening his mouth to reply when both boys were distracted by another of those damned birds landing by their feet. Draco was tempted to give it a good kick, anything to get the thing away, when something about the bird made him hesitate.

Peering down at the bird, which was actually quite sizeable, its wingspan comfortably a metre or more, Draco paused. He noticed it was clearly some sort of raptor, covered in jet-black feathers. Its almost unnatural bravery unnerved Draco, but he wasn't sure whether or not that was more shocking than the eerie whines coming from its silvery beak, or the strangely metallic wing-tips and over-sized claws protruding from each foot.

All the while, the bird was looking up at the two Slytherins with an expression of innocent curiosity, and cautiously Draco bent down closer to the strange creature, one hand still resting on his wand.

Then, without warning, the bird launched itself at him, a shrieking mass of feathers and metal, swiping at Draco whenever it could, its sharp metal claws, tearing Draco's clothes into tattered rags and cutting deep into the skin below. Cursing and crying out in pain as Theo tried to wrestle the bird from him, a lucky punch left the bird dazed enough for Draco to pull out his wand and non-verbally summon his sword.

As it flew into his hand, he threw his wand to Theo, who had given up on trying to restrain the monstrous bird. Now armed with a sword, he managed to fend off the feral creature long enough for Theo to cry " _Confringo!_ " Draco heard a crack like the sound of the cannon as the bird exploded, dropping to the ground in a ball of orange fire. Even so, beneath its smouldering feathers it continued to put up a fight, and Draco had to hack at it with his sword for the bird to finally fall still.

Standing over the charred corpse, the two boys took a moment to catch their breath. They were both tired, hurt and shocked, bloody gashes along their limbs and panic in their eyes.

"What _was_ that?" Theo finally said, horrified.

"The Gamemakers' idea of fun," Draco replied sourly. "We'd better get the rest of our weapons, just in case." Theo summoned them from their pile of supplies at the edge of the clearing, then handed Draco's wand back to him.

"I think we should move before-"

" _Every torture in the world for eternal fame?_ " It was that chilling voice again, echoing out from all corners of the arena at once. Theo shuddered, and Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Suddenly, Draco felt as though a thousand eyes were watching him. As though he and Theo were no longer alone. Daring to look up at the fringes of the clearing, he saw dozens - no, hundreds - of the monstrous black birds perched in the trees, all of them watching him with unforgiving green eyes.

Before either boy had a chance to react, the air all around them was full of the birds, a maelstrom of razor-sharp blades hurtling towards them at break-neck speed.

"RUN!"

It was the only thing Draco had time to say before the birds were upon him, a writhing mass that seemed to drag, pull, snag at him, tugging him every which way like a rag doll, maimed and beaten. He tried to Apparate away to safer grounds, but his mind was too fuddled to take him anywhere. He'd need to find a way out of this mess with his wand.

Sensing a chance, he powered his way to his feet and sprinted through the mess, breaking free of the birds for a moment as they adjusted to his burst of energy. He could see Theo running fifty metres ahead of him, making no attempt to fight the terrifying birds. It was the right thing for Theo to do; he had no weapon to resist the birds with.

 _It's up to me to hold these off,_ Draco realised with a sense of panic, and turned at the edge of the clearing to face his flying pursuers.

" _Stupefy!_ " He cried, dropping the lead bird. The few at the front of the flock were easier to aim for than the churning mass of feathers that followed, and it was easy work taking down the frontrunners. " _Stupefy!_ " Draco cried again, taking down another bird. " _Impedimenta! Reducto! Diffindo! Petrificus Totalus!_ " He was firing every curse, jinx and hex he knew at the birds, and still they came forward, a relentless procession that seemed to be losing nothing and gaining ground on Draco with every passing second.

" _Confringo!_ " He screamed in desperation, flustered now, just wanting the birds _gone_. He could feel his energy levels waning, and he needed a break. He knew how to get the best from his wand more than Theo did (it answered to him, after all) and his Blasting Curse had caused far more damage than Theo's, sending a fireball twenty feet into the sky that knocked Draco off his feet and scorched his face with its immense heat, but it seemed to have taken out a third of the birds at most. Faintly, far behind him, he could still hear Theo running, presumably now a safe distance away.

He needed a break.

Scrambling back to his feet, he began running as fast as he could through the trees, constantly away aware of the dark presence behind him, conjuring hordes of eagles all around him, flying just over his shoulder, until he felt that he could run no more.

This would be his final stand.

" _OPPUGNO!_ " Draco screamed, ordering his eagles into battle against the raptors, and he continued to scramble away as the air was filled with a blur of golden eagles and black raptors, the glimmer of metal claws and the tortured screams of dying birds.

Within ten seconds, his birds lay broken on the floor, a mass of blood and bones, and his final defense was gone. He scrambled backwards, running into a tree as the birds hurtled towards him, only for the terror in his veins to be replaced with confusion as the birds veered away at the last minute, seemingly content to let Draco live for at least another day. Confused but relieved, Draco turned around to find out that he hadn't run into a tree after all; it had been Theo.

"What gives, Theo?" Draco snapped, still on edge from the surprise attack, but Theo wasn't even looking at him; he remained staring coldly down the hill. Draco followed his gaze and found himself face to face with two members of his house, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini.

"Ah, Malfoy," Zabini said coldly. Draco noticed he was holding a bow in his right hand. There was an arrow positioned against the bowstring. "We were wondering when we'd run into you."

"Were you?" Draco snapped. Having just run half a mile for his life, he was in no mood to be talking to anyone, except maybe Theo.

"Damn right we were," Zabini continued sharply. "Seeing as you abandoned us at the Cornucopia and all."

" _Abandoned_ you?" Draco scoffed. "We were never together."

"So what was all this talk of Slytherin dominance you've been preaching for years?" Zabini snapped. "Was that all it was, then? Just talk, ready to run away and save your sorry hide whenever the going gets tough?"

Draco felt his cheeks start to burn up in anger. Thankfully, Theo spared him from having to answer Zabini's question.

"You really thought we'd save _you_?" Theo said defensively. "That we'd let you join _us_ , the only two worthy of winning these Games?"

"Draco, you know I've proved myself-"

"Don't you beg to him like that!" Theo snapped. "You are worth nothing compared to us, we descendants of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! You might be Slytherin, but you are not one of us! To think we would even consider defending you!"

"You two are the reason Daphne and Millicent died, you know," Zabini said quietly, looking down at Malfoy's feet. He almost seemed hurt. "At the end of the bloodbath, it was just us and the Hufflepuffs left. All six of them, and it would have been all six of us, too." He looked up, glaring at Malfoy and Theo. "Without you, the numbers were too much. We took down Jones, but it wasn't enough to save Daphne and Millicent."

"Don't tell me you're actually trying to guilt-trip us," Malfoy laughed. "You should know better than that, Zabini." Pansy Parkinson, noticing the raised voices and the directing the argument was going in, began to back away from Zabini, fading away into the forest. Neither Draco nor Theo cared much; all of their attention was directed towards Zabini.

"Draco, Theo," he pleaded. "We're _friends_. We know each other. And here you two are, getting on like a house on fire, running around the arena watching each other's backs, while I'm stuck with the rest of these losers you cast off, fending for myself."

"Friends?" Draco laughed, and Theo looked hurt. Draco didn't know where he was going with this, and he didn't know if he really believed any of it, but he was riled up and frustrated, and needed to vent somehow. "Theo, you're barely better than Crabbe and Goyle. You'll say everything you think I want to hear, but when it comes to it, you're always scared to do anything for yourself. You just sit around acting superior while Theo and I do all the hard work."

"That's how you feel, is it?" Zabini replied angrily, visibly shaking now.

Theo, who seemed to have caught on to what Draco was doing, added, "If you don't have anything else to say worthy of our time, why don't you leave?"

Zabini glared at him, hurt and bristling with anger, both hands gripping his bow firmly.

"Don't you dare," Theo threatened him, but it was too late. In one fluid motion, Zabini had swung his bow up and let the arrow loose, straight at Draco's head.

It was a good thing that Draco had been alert, because as he crashed to the floor in a desperate dodge, the arrow soared less than a foot above the top of his head. Theo had been too shocked to anything as Zabini reached for another arrow, but Draco was too fast for him.

" _Imperio!_ " Draco cried, feeling the familiar warmth run down his arm, cutting through the anger and the pain, and he watched with glee has Zabini's eyes slid out of focus and back again, his arms falling limp by his sides as he awaited instructions from his new master.

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day three), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Parvati Patil, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley**

 **Hufflepuff: Susan Bones, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **For anyone who is wondering, I chose the name for the spell I created - _Portus Loci_ \- because _Portus_ is the incantation to create a Portkey, and because in mathematics a group of points in a feasible region is called a locus of points, and locus is 'place' in latin, the origin language of nearly all HP spells. So I chose 'loci' (plural of 'locus') as the 'adjustment' Malfoy made to get a Portkey to work in relation to another object (with the range of possible destinations within range) rather than in relation to one specific place. So that's why that happened...**

 **I hope to have Chapter Seventeen posted within two or three days :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thanks to Catchfire, sillymoose13, lunalestrange7, Arven Di Angelo, algebraniac, harrypotterfan24, PeridotPi, DaughterOfTerpsichore and Shaky for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)**

 **Apologies about the delays in posting this chapter! As well as having to go back and think about how to write this one, I've had a busy week preparing for university after getting my A-Level results last week (for any non-Brits reading this, think of NEWTs and you get the idea). So now, back to business...**

 **There isn't too much else I need to say here, other than that I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

The going had been easy for the Hufflepuffs lately. Evening had come across the arena on the fourth day of the Games, with thirteen tributes left alive. An unusually high number for this stage in the Games, Sophie Roper thought, and she was right. Thus far, deaths had been few and far between.

Sitting around the Hufflepuff campfire just metres from the Cornucopia that evening, Sophie couldn't help but feel that her little alliance could have done so much better than they had. Following Wayne's death two days ago they had been down to four, the numbers starting to swing back against them, their confidence waning. Susan had told her that Nott and Malfoy had been working together, and had caught them off-guard. Sophie had already assumed the pair to be working together following their no-show in the standoff between Hufflepuff and Slytherin at the start of the Games, but now she had proof.

The Hufflepuff alliance was in a bad place. Ernie MacMillan had always been reluctant to stray too far from the safety of the camp, and since the surprise attack Susan had been far less outgoing, too. That left Sophie and Justin, the original leaders and shot-callers of the pack, but Justin had taken an arrow in the leg from Hermione Granger the morning before they lost Wayne (thankfully it was only a flesh wound) and although his brain alone was well worth him staying in the group, he could barely fight. But she knew that he was still valuable to the group.

Clearly at least one of her mentors also thought so, as they had provided Justin with powerful painkillers to keep him walking through the day; the Slytherin side of her was screaming out to hold some of the drugs back, to stockpile some of them for her own use should she need them later in the Games, but she had decided against it. She'd turned her back on the Slytherin part of her when she chose Hufflepuff all those years ago when she first walked into Hogwarts.

She didn't want to be ruthless. But that didn't mean that she couldn't be.

Back on the opening day of the Games, when the fighting had begun to die down and the tributes of Slytherin and Hufflepuff had been left to square off for the excess supplies and control of the Cornucopia, Sophie hadn't hesitated to throw herself into the thick of things, keen to assert her dominance above her fellow Hufflepuffs and take a Slytherin out of the Games early. She'd set her sights on Daphne Greengrass, and using the two knives she still had tucked in her belt, she had got the job done. She wasn't proud of it, but she knew it was necessary.

All in all, Sophie wasn't proud of much she had achieved in the previous four days, but she was fine with that. She understood what the end goal was, and what it would take to get there. She reasoned that this unrelenting drive to push her allies onwards, dragging them along with her where they fell short of the mark, was the reason that she was the only Hufflepuff with a wand. She had received it the previous afternoon. Still, she hadn't had a chance to use it; she hadn't seen another tribute for two days, since she'd let Michael Corner get the slip on her up in the hills to the north-west.

As cloudy sky grew dimmer and dimmer and the temperature began to drop more and more (she sat huddled in a too-big green jumper by the fire), Sophie began to feel impatient. At the request of her allies, none of the four Hufflepuffs had left the Cornucopia that day. They wanted a chance to rest up, but Sophie thought they were all too scared or too hurt to dare another scouting mission. And if she could help it, she wouldn't be going out on her own. Even armed with her two trusty blades and a wand, walking through the woods alone would make her feel vulnerable.

So she had waited, and she had pestered, and now she had finally convinced Ernie to accompany her on a night-time patrol. They would wait for the death recap (there had been a cannon late the previous evening, after all), and then they would leave, heading off to the south. Sophie was eager to find the source of the colossal explosion that had caught her by surprise that afternoon, just mere minutes after that voice had spoken up again. It was beginning to freak her out...

Eventually, the death recap came, and the lone face in the sky belonged to Parvati Patil, which hardly left an impression on Sophie; she had barely ever spoken to the girl. She had, however, been hoping that somebody more threatening had been the casualty. Someone high-scoring, like Draco Malfoy or Harry Potter. But she was to have no such luck that evening.

A few more minutes of cajoling Ernie MacMillan into action followed, and then the two Hufflepuffs left their small camp behind, disappearing into the depths of the woods south of the Cornucopia. With the sun just a distant memory, the sky was barely distinguishable from the black ground beneath Sophie's feet, and for a while she struggled to make any progress, before she remembered the wand tucked into the back pocket of her trousers.

" _Lumos,_ " she muttered quickly, frustrated that she hadn't thought of the idea earlier. She might be advertising her position to tributes in the area, but at least she would be able to see them coming. The forest was dark and unforgiving, full of paranoid tributes, defensive creatures and yet to be seen horrors, poised to strike at the push of a Gamemaker's button. The night was cooling off quickly, so Sophie was desperate to try and keep her pace up, but Ernie was constantly sidetracked, frozen in panic at the unexpected hoot of an owl, at the rustling of leaves above his head, at the distant moan of the wind through the trees. Lamenting her decision to go anywhere that evening, Sophie was forced to stop more and more for her timid partner to continue on their path, momentarily reassured the way was safe.

Quickly, she abandoned concern, content to keep walking, knowing that her ally was somewhere safe nearby.

"Sophie, wait!" Ernie eventually called out to her, as she began to slip away ahead into the night. Sighing, she turned around to find Ernie scrambling towards her through the trees.

"If you go much further ahead, I won't be getting any of the light," Ernie told her, panicked.

"Then walk quicker," Sophie replied shortly. Already annoyed that her trip into the forest wasn't going as planned, she wanted Ernie to stop being a nuisance to her, if nothing else. She didn't give any further comment before turning away from her fellow Hufflepuff and marching onwards through the forest.

For the next few minutes, Ernie seemed calmer, more alert and less irritating, but before long he was back to his old ways, seizing up at any noises from the forest and searching around nervously for more signs of danger.

"For goodness' sake, Ernie," Sophie eventually snapped, "Can't you just pull yourself together? We're wasting time here."

"You're taking risks, trampling across the forest at this speed," Ernie countered. "Someone will hear us!"

"That's the _whole point,_ " Sophie sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. "The time for scouting is past. We're here to try and take someone down, and whether you want to be a part of it or not, you're stuck here with me. So maybe you'd like to keep up and be ready to lend a hand?"

Ernie glowered at her, but kept walking.

Sophie led the way as the night wore on, and Ernie skittered through the trees in her wake, weapon drawn in case of a fight. His knuckles were white as he gripped his sword tightly with both hands.

Eventually Sophie became aware that she could no longer hear footsteps behind her. Stopping for a moment, listening more clearly, she realised that there was nothing to indicate Ernie was anywhere nearby.

A rare moment of panic passed over her.

" _Watch out, boys and girls,_ " Came the eerie voice, whispering and screaming above Sophie's head. " _Be ready to fight._ "

Sophie spun round in an instant, her still-lit wand stretched out ahead of her. Away in the distance, fifty yards from her, she could see a barely identifiable person - no, two people close to each other - writhing and staggering in the dark. A fresh sense of urgency in her veins, Sophie ran towards the scene, a wand in one hand and a knife in the other.

"Ernie!" She called out, but she didn't get a reply. Once she was close enough to get a good look at the action, she understood why.

Ernie was stuck in a brawl for with a slender, brown-haired girl of about his height, who fought with a ferocity Sophie hadn't yet seen in the arena. Ernie's sword lay discarded on the floor ten metres away, presumably forced from his hand. Sophie raised her wand towards the pair, desperate to free her ally, but she daren't fire a curse for the fear of hitting Ernie.

She was stuck, resigned to the role of spectator while Ernie's battle reached its own conclusion.

Eventually a winner was found, and Ernie was forced to submit, pinned to his attacker by an arm around his waist and a blade across his throat. For the first time, Sophie caught a glimpse at the face of their opponent, a face full of vindictiveness and pride that she had grown used to over the past six years. The face of Pansy Parkinson.

"Ah, we have a visitor!" Pansy laughed, with a vague nod towards Sophie. She sounded unnecessarily angry. _Too angry,_ Sophie thought. As though she hadn't been in a good frame of mind for some time. "What have you come to do, make a note of your friend's last words?" Sophie noticed her grip on Ernie tighten, forcing her ally to emit a desperate whimper, and she realised that she had little time to stand around.

No longer worrying about the risks of hitting Ernie, she raised her wand arm up towards Pansy.

"Stupe-" Sophie began, but before she could finish, Pansy had let go of Ernie and flung her knife straight at Sophie, forcing her to duck. Feeling the rush of air over her head as she moved, Sophie was so flustered she could barely react before Pansy had charged her down, knocking her to the floor and sending her wand flying from her hand into the dirt. Landing flat on her back, the air knocked out of her lungs, Sophie spluttered on the ground for a moment but still had the wherewithal to slash towards Pansy with the knife still in her left hand.

Unfortunately the Slytherin was too fast for her, grabbing her wrist with one hand and slowly prying the knife from her fingers with the other. Now the advantage was with Pansy.

"Ernie!" Sophie cried out, suddenly panicked, with Pansy pinning her to the floor, a knife in her hand, ready to strike. "Ernie, help!"

Ernie did nothing, but Sophie's cries had been enough to distract Pansy, and the Hufflepuff found strength within her to power her way out, pushing Pansy from her and grabbing for the blade in the Slytherin girl's hand. For a moment there was nothing but the silent struggle of two girls both giving their all in a scramble for the one object, the game-changer, that would decide their fates.

The blade was fumbled, and it fell to the ground between the two girls, who immediately dived after it. Ten seconds later and the two were locked together, the blade in Sophie's hand, which in turn was pinned next to Pansy's side, unable to harm anyone.

"Ernie!" Sophie called once again, her face taut with exertion. She turned her head towards her bewildered ally, who was watching on with his sword in his hands, seemingly not sure what to do. "Help! Strike her while she's open!"

Yet still Ernie did nothing but stare between the two girls, the panic still in his eyes. He may have been strong-minded and decisive in the classroom, but out here where it mattered, he was lost.

Eventually his eyes met Sophie's, and in that moment she suddenly understood everything. Everything she had been secretly thinking, every ounce of suspicion she had stored within her mind, it was all true.

Their alliance wasn't worth it anymore.

It was over.

If a Hufflepuff was going to win the Games, it wouldn't be through teamwork.

Somehow, through all the anger and the frustration, her mind drifted back to the forest, and she realised that she was getting the upper hand on an increasingly frustrated Pansy, slowly working the knife away from Pansy's side.

A couple more inches and Sophie had the manoeuvrability she needed. Pushing forwards with all her might, she drove the blade into Pansy's body just above the hip.

Suddenly Pansy's eyes were open with fear and pain, and she collapsed to the ground in a heap, cursing and screaming, barely even paying attention as Sophie opened herself up to the Slytherin part of herself, making the quick moves to trap Pansy on the floor, pull the blade from her body and drag it across her throat.

It barely took twenty seconds for the cannon to fire. Sophie was still straddled across the dead girl's body, knees pinning Pansy's shoulders to the floor, Pansy's blood soaking into her trousers. She was shaking her head, as though to purge her mind of the terrible deed she had just performed.

The crimson blade lay forgotten in the dirt beside her.

Eventually, taking a deep breath, Sophie got back to her feet and turned to Ernie, glaring. He stood idle twenty feet away, clearly shook up, his sword hanging loosely in his left hand like the useless prop it seemed to be.

It was completely wasted on him.

"We're heading back to camp," Sophie barked as she strode past Ernie without even looking at him. She didn't even care if he followed.

* * *

Sophie sat alone by the dying embers of the campfire on a log that she had dragged to the Cornucopia three days ago with a then-healthy Justin. She sat leaning forward, running her hands through her now-greasy blonde hair. Like everything about her, it had lost its shine since taking on the arena. Her eyes darted from side to side, watching carefree sparks dance in the orange glow of the dying fire. Despite the chaos unfolding all around her, she found the flickering light soothing.

Sophie exhaled deeply, looking up at the sight of the camp all around her. Everything around her spoke of neglect and incompetence. She had returned to the Cornucopia shortly after midnight with a relieved-looking Ernie to find the fire still burning away, despite everyone at camp being asleep. Which in itself was a problem; Susan was meant to be on guard duty, but instead she was curled up asleep by the fire, an axe resting against the log that Sophie was now sitting on. The blade hadn't moved; the dying light of the fire left the axe glowing beside her.

There was equipment strewn everywhere; weapons lay on the floor unguarded, stacks of supplies had cropped up around the fire when the others hadn't been bothered to take the crates back to their intended storage space at the Cornucopia just _twenty yards away._ It was as though the others were inviting tributes to ambush them...

She couldn't take any more of it.

Justin had his uses, but he could barely walk, Susan clearly wasn't up to much (if her feeble attempt at keeping watch was to set standards, at least), and Sophie now knew first-hand that Ernie was useless.

It had been over two hours since she had arrived back at the camp, and still Sophie hadn't even considered sleeping. She just had too much on her mind. Susan lay sleeping by the fire just a few feet from her, and she could tell from the calm, even pattern of the boys' breaths that both Justin and Ernie were asleep in their tents.

If she intended to clear off, now was the chance.

Sophie had always thought ahead, worried of what would happen if she was separated from the others after an ambush, so her backpack already contained all the supplies that she would need to keep her alive for at least a couple of days. She would have hoped to have support from sponsors to keep her going after that point, anyway. Either that or scavenge what she knew was edible from the land around her.

In the end, Sophie only scavenged around for a couple of things before her bag was packed; a box of Justin's painkillers that had been left by the fireside, and a thick overcoat that sat on top of a crate of supplies between the two tents. Judging by the trend in the weather, Sophie imagined that she would need it before the week was out.

Thankfully, with few things to collect, Sophie had little issue packing her bag without disturbing the other Hufflepuffs, who all slept quietly on the floor, unaware of the betrayal taking place around them. Eventually Sophie stood to leave, a knife ready in her hand in case of danger in the forest. Turning away from the camp, she looked out towards her dark, uncertain future.

And then Sophie remembered something. All the hair stood up on her arms, and her stomach felt uneasy, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

Sophie knelt down beside Susan Bones, who lay peacefully on the ground, curled away from Sophie, her pale face barely illuminated by the final embers of the fire fleeing upwards into the night. The same light that just managed to reveal the trembling blade in Sophie's left hand.

 _These people are not my allies,_ Sophie told herself, taking deep, steadying breaths. _These people are not my friends. I'm abandoning them. If we meet again, why would they show me mercy? There's no reason for them to. They are targets now. Real,_ dangerous _targets..._

Slowly, carefully, Sophie rolled Susan on to her back, her head rolling back to leave her neck exposed.

Through gritted teeth, for the second time that night Sophie performed the deed, only this time she didn't hang around once the cannon shattered the peace of the night once more.

By then, she was long gone.

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day four), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley**

 **Hufflepuff: Susan Bones, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, I welcome constructive criticism :)**

 **I know that this story is far from finished, but I'm really starting to think about where this story is going to end up. I've had a plan from the very beginning (which so far I have stuck to almost perfectly), and had a 'definite' victor pencilled in, but now I'm starting to have second thoughts over who should win, and how they should do it. I have a few events lined up, but in many ways I am still indecisive about how this story should finish, and who should be there at the end.**

 **To summarise, I have a plan in mind, but I'm starting to doubt how much I'm going to be following it.**

 **Where do you guys feel this story should be going? :)**

 **P.S. I promise the next update will be faster than this one. I already know exactly what I'm doing with Chapter Eighteen ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thanks to harrypotterfan24, anonymousfangirl, Fictionandfandom, oceanfanfiction, PeridotPi, sillymoose13, ProditorMagnus, DaughterOfTerpsichore, Always0731 and lunalestrange7 for reviewing! As ever, the support is appreciated :)**

 **After having a couple of queries about Sophie Roper, I should mention that she is never mentioned in either the Harry Potter books or films, but was shown to be on a list in J.K. Rowling's notes compiling all the students in Harry's school year, so she can be considered semi-canonical to the books, as is the case with fellow Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins. So, as little is known about her, I've effectively been handed a free OC while maintaining this story as being accurate to canon as of Chapter One.**

 **With that sorted, there isn't really anything else I want to say about this chapter, other than that I hope you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

Harry woke early that morning after a restless night's sleep, twice interrupted by the crack of the cannon. As light forced its way through the canvas of the tent, he realised any attempts to grab a couple more hours' rest would be futile, and quietly made his way outside, careful not to wake Hermione, who was still huddled in her sleeping bag, fast asleep.

The air outside the tent was cool and crisp, and dew coated the grass around the tent. The trio had moved west into the rolling hills the previous evening, setting up their tent at the fringe of the forest, but now it was so foggy that Harry could barely make out even the closest trees. The only clear shape he could make out was Ron, sat huddled on the ground five metres from the entrance to the tent, his sword glistening in the grass beside him. He'd been up all night, keeping watch. Even though Hermione had spent much of the last day casting a variety of defensive spells leaving the trio virtually untouchable, Harry still thought that they could never be too cautious.

The previous day had been the first day where Harry had started to feel safe in the arena, now with both Ron and Hermione by his side. Safe enough, he thought, for an offensive plan to be formed. But he could see that the others weren't up for it.

While Ron maintained that he was fine, Harry could tell that he had been struggling since the first day, trying to come to terms with his actions at the Cornucopia. He had tried to help, but Ron had quickly become sullen and hostile, so Harry gave him his space.

Hermione, however, was the real obstacle, as it seemed to Harry as though she had been in an entirely different place to him during those first couple of days. By the time Harry and Ron had caught up with her and driven off the attack of the Patil twins, she was hurt and exhausted, the top half of her body tender and sore from dangerous sunburns, her legs covered in horrible stings from the nettles she had encountered sneaking up to the Hufflepuff camp. It was clear to Harry that what Hermione needed most of all was a day's rest; a chance to get over the shocks of the first three days, to pull herself back together. A day of feeling protected.

So Harry hadn't pushed the issue, leaving himself bursting with energy but with nowhere to release it while his friends recovered. The trio had wandered slowly through the arena together, aimlessly exploring new regions of forest. Apart from one scare when Ron was caught off-guard by the sudden chatter of birdsong from a branch just above his head, the afternoon seemed to pass without any incidents at all. At least, nothing apart from the piercing voice and the dull boom of an explosion, somewhere past the horizon.

As the day passed, Hermione began to gain confidence, leading the way with her wand and choosing the spot to set up their tent that evening. Ron, too, seemed more invigorated by the evening, leaving Harry confident that the next day would be different.

They all watched the death recap together in the dark. It would be the last time any of them saw Parvati's face. Now they were the only Gryffindors left.

"It's about time one of you two woke up," Ron said, cutting off Harry's thoughts. He had half a smile on his face as his weary eyes looked up at Harry from the ground. "I've been up all night."

"Go and get some rest then," Harry said, gesturing to the opening into the tent, where Hermione still lay huddled up, sleeping. The cold night had forced them to use the thick, fur-lined coat Harry had picked up at the Cornucopia for the first time. Now Hermione lay wrapped within it, despite it being several sizes too large for her.

Noticing that he was still only in a t-shirt and the cold wind biting against his skin, Harry shivered.

"Cold?" Ron asked. Harry nodded. "Tell me about it. I can't wait to get out of the wind."

Ron made a move for the tent, but stopped in his tracks when he heard something crash through the trees nearby. The two boys wandered slowly through the fog for a minute before finding a large box dangling from the branches of a beech tree, the silvery parachute tangled in the leaves.

"About time we heard from Finnick, don't you think?" Ron said, staring at the box. They hadn't received anything from Katniss and Finnick since Hermione's wand. Harry didn't say anything in reply, instead focusing on cutting the box free with a knife he had tucked in his belt. Ron had left his sword by the tent.

Pulling the box free excitedly, Harry's heart sank the moment he realised how light it was. It felt as though there was barely anything inside. It didn't make a sound when he shook it, either.

"Think we've got another wand?" Ron asked hopefully, but Harry shook his head.

"It doesn't feel like we've got _anything,_ " Harry sighed, setting the box down on the floor next to him and tugging the lid off.

Wrapped up within the box were three woollen jumpers, each of them an unattractive maroon colour. As Ron untangled one from the others and held it up to examine it, Harry realised they reminded him of the Weasley Christmas jumpers that Mrs Weasley made for each of her children (as well as him and Hermione) every year.

"Never let me complain about our mentors again," Ron said as he hurriedly threw on a jumper, and Harry followed suit. A moment later and they stood looking at each other in their jumpers, and at once they both burst out laughing.

"I think they're all different sizes," Harry realised. The sleeves of his jumper were so long only the tips of his fingers showed past the end of the sleeves. "This one must be yours."

"And this," Ron said, grunting with effort as he worked his way out of a tiny jumper. "Must be Hermione's."

Ron had just picked up his own jumper when the voice spoke again, piercing through the sounds of the arena.

" _Have you given up yet, deep in your heart?_ " The voice whispered and screamed. Harry shuddered. He still wasn't used to its sudden, chilling appearances.

"I really hate that," Ron said. "Makes me on edge."

"Me too," Harry said, keeping a closer eye on the murky fog that surrounded them.

Suddenly there was a burst of movement, and Ron almost jumped out of his skin.

But it was just Hermione. She looked like she had only just woken up; her hair was a complete mess, her eyes wide and panicked.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest to steady himself. "Couldn't you have been just _a_ _little_ more subtle?"

Hermione ignored him. "What did the voice say?" she asked impatiently.

"'Have you given up yet, deep in your heart?'" Ron repeated, confused. "Why the rush, anyway, Hermione?"

"I want to try and make sure I remember everything that the voice says," Hermione explained, using her wand to conjure a ballpoint pen and notepad, and she began scribbling away immediately. "It's only thanks to you two laughing your heads off that I was actually able to hear the message. So much for letting me sleep peacefully," she sighed. She still hadn't noticed the jumpers that had been the cause of the commotion.

"What does it matter, anyway?" Ron asked, and Hermione looked up from her notepad to glare at him. She didn't say anything else until she had put her pen away, tore off a scrap of paper and thrust it at Ron. Ron read it aloud, confused:

 _The arena is ready to play a game_

 _However hard you try, you can't keep out the night_

 _Every torture in the world for eternal fame?_

 _Watch out, boys and girls; be ready to fight_

 _Have you give up yet, deep in your heart?_

"Look," she said firmly. "Yesterday, I was thinking about the things the voice had told us, when I realised that the first and third 'messages' had rhymed. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but after we heard the voice again last night, I realised it wasn't. I feel like there's something more to the voice than we think they're is. As though it's telling us something."

"But Hermione," Harry said, glancing at the scrap of paper over Ron's shoulder. "It doesn't make sense."

"I don't think it needs to," she said. "I think there's another message hidden within here. I'm not expecting to understand yet - I'm sure we haven't heard the last of the voice - but I still want to hunt for clues."

"I really think you're overthinking this," Ron said, running a hand through his hair.

"If it's telling us anything, it's telling us to look out for danger," Harry added thoughtfully. "I mean, how often has the voice been followed by a cannon, or an explosion?"

"That's a good point," Ron said, nodding in agreement.

"But what about the voice ten minutes ago?" Hermione countered. "We didn't hear anything then, did we?"

"I'm sure people on the other side of the arena didn't hear anything when we fought the Patils two days ago," Ron added. "That doesn't mean nothing happened though, does it?"

For a while, Hermione couldn't think of anything to say to that. "I don't think that's the reason for the voice," she said finally. "When Parvati and Padma attacked me, the only reason they found me was because the voice was so unexpected it made me scream. So surely the voice doesn't always signal danger?"

"Maybe it just means that tributes are close to each other," Harry suggested.

"Personally, I just think it's saying creepy things to unnerve us," Ron said, after another pause. "I mean, it's managed that without fail every time, hasn't it?" Harry nodded.

"I really don't know what's going on," Hermione said, her brow furrowing as she re-read her own notes. "We'll need more of the message to know for sure."

* * *

The morning passed slowly as Ron led the way back towards the centre of the arena. The day remained cold, and the sun remained hidden behind the thick fog that had descended over the arena like a fluffy blanket. Visibility was poor, leaving Harry constantly on edge, and conditions grew to be so bad he thought there wasn't much point in carrying on.

"Let's stop," he told the others around noon, when visibility stretched to three metres, at most. "There's no way we're going to find anyone or anything in these conditions." Harry had never seen fog like it. "We're just wasting energy."

"I have no idea whether we haven't reached the Cornucopia, or whether we've gone past it," Ron added. "Let's take a break."

"Surely someone could just walk across us in the fog?" Hermione said nervously.

"I'm sure we've got just as much chance of getting caught walking as we have sitting here," Ron countered. "Which, by the way, is next to none. Relax, Hermione, we'll be-" Ron suddenly paused, his eyes widening in fear and confusion.

"Ron?" Harry asked quickly, panicked.

And then he felt it.

It was as though someone had clamped their hand across his mouth. The fog seemed to have become so thick that it became hard to breathe in, its thickness smothering Harry as his lungs struggled to pump in the oxygen he needed.

"MOVE!" he managed to force out, grabbing Hermione's wrist and dragging her after him as they followed Ron desperately through the fog. Harry scrambled blindly through the mist, hoping not to stumble as he followed the vague shape of Ron just visible ahead of him, praying for the fog to evaporate. He had no idea where he was running, and he didn't care either, as long as wherever it was didn't have this suffocating fog.

Seconds within the terrifying white mist dragged out into hours, the only sound the throbbing of his veins within his head and scuffle of boots over firm ground. Harry's heart raced, his lungs screamed for oxygen, his legs doing all they could to power after Ron through the forest. He was vaguely aware he still had one hand clamped around Hermione's wrist.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Harry burst out of the fog (which stopped so suddenly it was like the mist had run into an invisible wall) into weak sunlight, a grassy area surrounded by-

" _Impedimenta!_ "

The force of the jinx took Harry off his feet and backwards into an old oak tree, his shoulders hitting the trunk with such force that he collapsed forwards into the grass.

" _Harry!_ "

Crumpled on the floor, trying desperately to catch his breath, Hermione kneeling beside him, Harry took a moment to look up. All around him the fog was evaporating, leaving in its place a clear, wintry sky. The Gamemakers had clearly decided its job was done. Looking around, he could only see trees in every direction. There were no notable landmarks, nothing that could be seen through the trees or above the canopy. Having travelled through the fog all morning, he had no idea where he was.

Ten metres from him, Ron stood his ground, sword held out in front of him, glaring at Harry's attacker.

Draco Malfoy.

With such variable conditions, Harry had known that everyone would be reliant on sponsors for clothes, but he hadn't realised how much clothing would differ according each sponsor's tastes. It was the first time Harry had seen the young Slytherin since arriving in the arena, and Harry now saw Malfoy hiding behind his own sword has he slowly circled Ron, dressed entirely in black, a soft leather jacket and fingerless leather gloves, black combat trousers and leather boots. Apart from training before the Games, Harry had never seen Malfoy in Muggle clothing, and the sight of him almost brought a grin to Harry's mouth.

If the situation hadn't been so grave, Harry would have laughed at how ridiculous he looked.

As Hermione slowly pulled Harry back to his feet, the only sound Harry could hear was Malfoy's taunting laugh.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Malfoy laughed, swishing his sword around in an attempt to be intimidating. "Don't tell me a bit of fog is all it took to get you to shut up? To think, I've been going about it the wrong way for years..."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron spat at him, unmoving.

"Always so crass," Malfoy tutted, a grin spreading across his face. "Then again, we can always expect _your lot_ to lower the tone, can't we?" Draco cast a vicious look at Hermione.

"Leave her out of this," Ron growled.

"Touched a nerve, have I, Weasley?" Malfoy smirked, holding his sword out towards Ron. He paused for a moment, surveying him up and down.

"It's a good thing that your sponsors seem to know what they're doing," Malfoy continued, gesturing to Ron's jumper. "I'd be impressed if you'd lasted this long without their help, but then you haven't, have you? Then again, I expect you're so used to living off other people's charity - how else do you get by, living in that hovel? - that you never even considered not having people to help you..."

"That's enough, Malfoy!" Hermione shouted at him, her face flushed with anger.

Malfoy raised his eyes in mock surprise. "So the Mudblood wants a fight, too?" he mused. "I'd have thought that watching me take down Potter would have been-"

But Malfoy never got to finish his sentence; he was too busy dodging Hermione's Stunning Spell to get the words out, and before he could counter, Ron was upon him. Sparks flew as their swords met, and Malfoy relented, moving backwards to find more space, but Ron bore down on him, his brutal stabs being deflected by Malfoy's more controlled parries.

Slowly Malfoy began to get a foothold in the fight, holding his own against Ron's superior strength and attempting a comeback, his face taut with determination, spitting profanities and insults that Harry could barely hear over the clash of the blades. Powerless to do anything but watch, Harry could only look on as Ron became more and more riled up, his face red with anger as he glared at Malfoy, his attacks becoming evermore forced and frantic.

"Hermione, do something!" Harry snapped, standing beside her, pointing at the wand in her hand.

"What can I do?" Hermione replied breathlessly, worry spread across her face. "Look how close they are to each other! Anything I do could hit either of them, so I daren't..."

Still, it didn't look like Ron needed any help as he forced Malfoy further and further back towards a thick beech tree, until there was nowhere else Malfoy could go. Malfoy may have had superior technique, but that was no match for Ron's power and anger. Looking on, Harry could see the first traces of panic creeping onto Malfoy's face, the growing confidence flowing from Ron. Soon Malfoy's back was pressed against the tree, but when Ron swung his sword at his head, Malfoy ducked beneath the blade, diving past Ron as Ron's sword embedded itself into the tree trunk.

Malfoy turned almost instantly as Ron used both hands to free his sword from the tree, and even though Ron managed it, he was too slow. Malfoy's next lightning-fast strike met Ron's left arm just below the elbow, severing it in two.

" _NO!_ "

Ron dropped to his knees in front of Malfoy, cradling the bloody stump of his left arm against his body, his sword still held loosely in his right. His face was a picture of shock and agony, a wail of hatred and desperation escaping his lips.

Malfoy looked down at his latest victim, a triumphant smile growing on his lips, his sword pointing directly at Ron's chest.

And he laughed.

Time seemed to stop for Harry as he looked on, but he felt Hermione charge past him. She, at least, was capable of action.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " she cried in desperation, and her spell found its mark, throwing Malfoy's sword into the grass behind him.

Suddenly the roles were reversed, and Malfoy's victorious expression turned to panic as he floundered backwards, his left hand held out in front of himself protectively. Ron was now back to his feet again, the only weapon in his hands as he charged after Malfoy. The Slytherin continued to stumble backwards through the grass with renewed panic as Ron closed the gap, swinging at him with his sword while Malfoy was desperately fumbling with something in his pocket-

There was a crack like a gunshot, and the air behind Malfoy opened up, spitting out Theodore Nott. He was dressed similarly to Malfoy and seemed to have arrived mid-run, charging away from Malfoy for two or three steps before realising he was facing the wrong direction. He seemed to be unarmed at first, but then Harry noticed the wand in his right hand. Skidding over the wet grass, he wheeled around and cried:

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

There was a sudden rushing sound, and a jet of green light flew across the forest.

Ronald Weasley crumpled to his knees and collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor.

Dead.

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day four), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley**

 **Hufflepuff: Susan Bones, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: You all know the drill by now...**

 **P.S. Please don't hate me too much.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Wow, seventeen reviews for the last chapter... Many thanks to Amber, sillymoose13, harrypotterfan24, someonehehe, Arven Di Angelo, DaughterOfTerpsichore, materialgirl079, ProditorMagnus, Shaky, PeridotPi, oceanfanfiction, EAHHP, Indra Senin, lunalestrange7 and algebraniac for reviewing! It means a lot to have so much support from you guys :)**

 **Concerning the last chapter, I should mention that Draco fired the Impediment Jinx that took Harry off his feet at the beginning of the battle at the end of the chapter. It's implied, but in case some people were unsure, that's what happened. And to clarify, in what had been more weakly implied, Theo also received his wand from the Gamemakers between Chapter Sixteen and Chapter Eighteen, which explains why both Draco and Theo were able to cast spells during the battle.**

 **I am so, so, _so_ sorry to have left the story for so long between updates. I had this chapter written by last weekend, but since Saturday afternoon I've been unable to access anything to do with my account (some issue with servers or something), but thankfully we're up again now, and so I can finally give to you Chapter Nineteen.**

 **It's the first time the site has let me down like this in almost three years, and hopefully it won't happen again...**

 **Anyway, I hope that you enjoy the chapter, now that it's finally here :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

Harry barely heard the thud of the cannon or the whip-crack as Malfoy summoned his sword back into his hand and Disapparated, arm in arm with Nott.

 _Ron's murderer..._

He hadn't moved since the dreadful curse had been fired, still staring vacantly at the empty space the Slytherins had just vacated. Hermione was on her knees in the grass in front of him, sobbing, half-formed sentences passing incoherently past her lips.

Harry tried to think of something to say, something to do, but there was nothing.

Slowly sinking to the floor beside Hermione, anger flooded him as he surveyed the scene in front of him, but quickly; he could barely bring himself to look up.

 _Ron's dead. Ron's gone, there's nothing I can do for him now, it's just me and Hermione..._

Suddenly anger flared up within him, unfurling itself from within his chest as he blinked back tears, a terrifying mixture of grief, despair and fury coursing through him as he forced himself back to his feet. He was angry with Nott for performing the deed, with Malfoy for drawing them in, the Gamemakers for everything they had done with him, the whole world just for _being there-_

"COME BACK!" Harry was on his feet before he had realised, shrugging off Hermione's desperate attempt to keep him calm as he charged through the forest, veins throbbing in his temple as he surged blindly through the trees. Finally his heart broke, exhausted, and he stopped in a grassy clearing with no idea where he was.

"COME BACK, YOU FILTHY COWARDS!" He bellowed, desperate for someone - anyone - to take out his anger from, no longer caring who heard him. But nobody came except Hermione, who had stumbled after him, in no better shape than he was.

"Harry," Hermione said gently as she reached him, trying to offer at least some comfort, but the anguish on Harry's face was enough to tip her over the edge again, and she burst into tears again, flinging herself at Harry.

"I j-just can't b-believe it," Hermione cried, through muffled sobs into Harry shoulder. "That we l-let them - that we c-couldn't do a-anything..."

"I know," Harry said vacantly, glaring at the tree line, relaxing into an uneasy, hollow state as he slowly rubbed a spot on Hermione's back as she funneled off her misery into him. The muscles in his jaw were beginning to ache, and his head was throbbing, but he didn't care. "I know."

Slowly the uneasy silence that had spread over the forest since the cannon and Ron's death began to lift, Hermione's tears masked as the birds found their voice again. The weak sun still shone optimistically overhead. A pair of young rabbits danced unnoticed through the grass just metres from Harry and Hermione's mournful embrace.

Through the misery, life still went on.

The afternoon passed slowly, lost in a haze of loathing and regret. Harry led the way as he and Hermione wandered slowly through the arena in search of somewhere safe to rest, barely paying attention to his surroundings.

Harry knew they were vulnerable, but he didn't give a damn. All he could see was Malfoy staggering backwards through the grass, that flash of green light...

It just didn't seem right. He still couldn't quite believed what had happened. That Ron wouldn't be there any more, that he wouldn't come bounding up to them, making some sort of half-witty, half cutting remark at Hermione and glossing over everything he had seen that afternoon. But he had seen the spell, seen Ron fall... It was Sirius all over again. If he'd failed to hunt down Bellatrix Lestrange last year, he'd be damned if he let Nott and Malfoy get away with it this time around.

Despite everything that was piled onto him as he trudged through the woods, he could see that Hermione was in a worse place than he was. Keeping to herself, kicking her feet along after Harry, Hermione would often stop, taking deep breaths and looking hopefully into the distance, as though she still expected Ron to show up again at any moment. At every unexpected noise, she would stop and search around hopefully, only moving on when, once more, she was forced to admit that Ron was nowhere to be seen.

It hurt Harry to see her look so helpless and broken, but he didn't know if either of them could cope with him forcing a conversation onto her.

Eventually the afternoon faded into the evening, and Harry had found himself back in the rocky mountains in the south, not far from the site where he and Ron had survived the horrific lightning storm near the white glass tower. Last time he was here, he was with one of his best friends, and unsure whether the other was alive or dead. This time Hermione stood by his side instead of Ron, but there was no longer any doubt in his mind concerning his friend's fate.

As the sun set over the arena, Hermione spotted a small opening in the rocky wall of the mountain they were climbing. It was around four feet high and no more than three feet wide, as though it had been designed for house-elf, and not human, use.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Harry said nervously, as Hermione crouched down in front of the opening, directing her lit wand into the dark space beyond the hole in the mountainside. "Don't you remember the lighthouse?"

Hermione didn't answer his question, but instead began to crawl into whatever lay on the other side. "Wow," Harry heard Hermione say, followed by at least four echoes, each one less coherent than its predecessor. "It's really spacious in here!" Harry could tell from the way that Hermione was speaking that she was making more effort than usual to be positive. He didn't need to be reminded why.

"What can you see?" he asked.

"Nothing," Hermione replied. "Well, I can see the whole cave, but there's nothing in it. Just clean rock. Come and have a look!"

Reluctantly, Harry bent down beside Hermione at the cave's entrance and peered inside. Hermione was right; there was nothing inside. The smooth stone floor stretched maybe thirty metres back from the opening, with a roughly carved, domed roof. To Harry, it seemed too artificial, too suspicious.

"Don't you think there's likely to be some sort of trap?" He asked Hermione, who frowned.

"I don't think so," she said slowly. "I mean, if anything was being held in here, it looks like the Gamemakers have already let it loose, doesn't it?"

Harry waited for Ron to come up with a quick remark, then remembered with a painful start that Ron was dead.

"I suppose so," Harry said quickly, desperate to force his mind away from such thoughts.

"I think this could be a good place to set up the tent," Hermione suggested. "It'll be well hidden within the rock. Nobody will stumble across us here."

Harry shrugged. "Why not?" He said. He was drained, both mentally and physically, and would be glad of the rest. Noticing how relieved Hermione looked as she leaned back into the rock, completely exhausted, he offered, "Do you want me to set up the protective enchantments for once, Hermione?"

"No," she said determinedly. "I'll be fine. You can set up the tent, you always do it with-" Hermione stopped short, her sentence left hanging in the air between her and Harry. There eyes met, and there was nothing else for either of them to say. They turned their own ways, with their own tasks to perform. Slowly constructing the tent by hand in the light at the cave's entrance, he could hear Hermione casting defensive enchantments around them, see the slight glistening in the cold evening air as the spells took effect:

" _Protego Totalus... Muffliato... Salvio Hexia..._ "

Ten minutes later, and the tent had just been installed within the cave when the Capitol anthem began to play, announcing the death recap for the end of the fifth day of the Games.

Harry and Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor outside the cave, watching the sky together. Both of them turned away at first, knowing that Ron's face would be the first to appear, but looked back in time to find out who had been killed the previous night; Pansy Parkinson and Susan Bones.

"I wonder what happened there," Harry said in an effort to make conversation on the quiet hillside, but when he got no response from Hermione he turned to her, only to find her face tracked with tears once more.

Harry was just considering retreating into the cave to get away from the cold, biting wind when the voice once again spoke out.

" _In case you were wondering, here's a clue,_ " it whispered and screamed, forcing a gasp of surprise from Hermione and a sense of expectation from Harry. He listened intently for a clue, for anything more to the message, but eventually he conceded that the single sentence was all that he was going to get.

"What was that about?" Harry asked, turning to Hermione once again. "There was no clue there!"

Hermione sat and pondered for a moment, drying her face with her sleeves before pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them, trying to fend off the cold. Harry could just see her brown eyes, focused in thought, above the top of her knees and beneath her mass of bushy hair. Eventually, in a quiet voice, she spoke again.

"When we fought the Slytherins earlier," she began, stopping to take a deep breath. Harry waited patiently for her. "When we fought the Slytherins, and ran through all of that fog, there was no voice."

"So?" Harry said, trying to understand what Hermione was on about.

"It means that the voice isn't warning us about danger, like we had suggested," Hermione explained quietly. "Even without the voice, we found ourselves in enough trouble..." Harry didn't press that point any further.

"So that's the clue?" Harry said, feeling slightly disappointed.

"Maybe," Hermione replied. "Although the Gamemakers might have chosen that message deliberately to make us know there's more to understand."

Harry sighed. He could see Hermione had a point. "So you think the next message will be the real clue?"

Hermione nodded. "I think this one was just to rule out one of our theories. I imagine everyone else in the arena is trying to decipher this, just like we are."

Harry chuckled slightly. "I doubt it," he said with a smile. "I'd never have thought that there was anything else to them other than trying to scare us. It's only because of your amazing memory-" Hermione blushed slightly "- that we can recall the whole thing and attempt to analyse it. And if we can't figure it out, I'm sure nobody will be able to."

"So why are we bothering if nobody else is going to work it out either?" Hermione asked frustratedly.

"Because it'll be worth it," Harry said confidently. "If it's so hard to work out, surely there will be a good prize for anyone who can manage to work it out?"

"I'd like to hope so," Hermione said, sighing. "From what I've read, the Gamemakers have a good history of sending tributes off on wild-goose chases, with no rewards at the end of the trail..."

Harry didn't know about that, but he hoped that for these Games at least, all of their stressing and fretting would be worth it.

* * *

No more thought was given to the voice until the next morning, when Harry woke in the tent within the cave exactly where he had fallen asleep; huddled up beside Hermione, desperate to conserve warmth. Desperate to stretch his legs, Harry clambered out of the small opening and into the light of day. Momentarily dazzled by the bright light (he had been in almost complete darkness in the cave), he brought his hands up over his eyes, hairs sticking up along his arm from the cold as he did so.

When his eyes had become accustomed to the light of the early morning sun, Harry noticed that a frost had settled on the ground during the night, and that his breath now hung around him in icy clouds as he exhaled.

His disturbance in leaving the tent had woken Hermione, who soon ventured outside to stand beside Harry, wearing the thick fur-lined coat as she surveyed the scene around them, the sun glistening off of the icy ground all around them.

"I'd call it beautiful," Hermione said bitterly, "if this wasn't the location for two dozen murders." Harry didn't know what to say to that, but yet again he was saved by the terrible, chilling voice.

" _The secret unravels at the start,_ " it said, the final word echoing into oblivion over the deathly silence in the rocky mountains. Harry was impressed that, for once, Hermione didn't start at the sound of the voice. He had the feeling she had spent the whole night waiting for the next message.

"'The secrets unravel at the start,'" Harry repeated quietly. "Hermione, what were the first two messages again?"

"'The arena is ready to play a game,'" she began. "'However hard you try, you can't keep out the night.'"

"But that means nothing!" Harry exclaimed desperately. "And they're saying that there's a clue in that?"

"No," Hermione said slowly. "I don't think that's what it means."

"So what, then?" Harry snapped frustratedly. He imagined that, if nothing else, the next message would at least shed some light on whatever the voice was trying to tell them. "Unless you're trying to suggest to me that the message means the _literal start of the Games_ or something like that-"

"Harry, I think that's _exactly_ what it means."

"But that's impossible!" Harry countered, feeling more and more angry and disappointed by the second. "What do they expect, that we can all just pull time-turners out of our-"

"Harry, use your head!" Hermione interrupted hurriedly. "Where did the Games begin?"

"The Cornucopia, everyone knows that," Harry said, and then it dawned on him. "Whatever the Gamemakers are trying to get us to do, there's a clue waiting for us, hidden somewhere near the Cornucopia." He clapped a hand to his forehead. " _Of course._ Everyone would be able to work that out..." Hermione nodded. "So does that mean that everyone else will be charging off towards the Cornucopia to find this clue?"

"I think so," Hermione said, biting her lip nervously.

"Well then, we'd better beat them all there, hadn't we?" Harry said determinedly, a new spring in his step.

For the first time, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better.

* * *

They made the decision not to Apparate to the Cornucopia, reasoning that if someone else had beaten them there, they might be dead before they had a chance to take in their surroundings. Instead, they set off immediately for the centre of the arena at a fast walk.

"So," Harry said as they walked. "How many of us are left now? Ten?"

"I think so," Hermione replied. "Well, there's the two of us, Padma Patil and Michael Corner from Ravenclaw-"

"Nott and Malfoy," Harry spat, interrupting.

"Yes," Hermione said uneasily, continuing. "So that's six. There's Zabini from Slytherin, too, and then the three Hufflepuffs, Justin, Ernie and Sophie. So that takes us to ten."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I wonder who will be next to go," he said darkly, more to himself than to Hermione, but if he had been expecting a remark from Hermione, he didn't get one.

The morning passed quickly as Harry led the way back towards the Cornucopia. They stopped their journey just twice, both times for parachute deliveries; once for Harry to receive a coat identical to Hermione's (he had been shivering from the cold all morning), and the other time to collect his wand from the Gamemakers, which both he and Hermione took as a sign that travelling back to the Cornucopia was the correct thing to do.

Due in part to their redoubled efforts following this delivery, Harry and Hermione were hovering on the edge of the trees at the edge of the central clearing before noon, the Cornucopia glowing in the wintry sun close to them. Harry had not returned to the Cornucopia since the traumatic opening moments of the Games (he felt a piercing stab of pain through his chest as he remembered this, the panic he had endured with Ron, and what became of him), which meant that he had never seen the Hufflepuff camp before, but the Cornucopia had changed even since Hermione's last visit. As Harry watched the scene in front of him, he became more and more convinced that the camp was deserted, owing to the disarray of the objects on show, the poorly put-up tents (indeed, one of them had collapsed) and, most importantly, the complete lack of tributes.

After ten minutes of patient watching and observing nothing, Harry took the decision to advance slowly towards the Cornucopia, taking extreme care not to catch himself on the many nettle plants lurking the grass. Hermione was most adamant that he took care to watch his step, reminding him every few metres to take care as she walked in his wake, her loaded bow held ready to shoot, constantly on the lookout for danger.

Harry arrived at the camp beside the great golden horn without incident, and once he was there he had little difficulty in working out why the camp had been abandoned. All around him, there were signs of a struggle. Boxes of supplies were left upturned, their contents flung across the grass. There were scrapes and skid marks in the grass where it had been turned to mud by the frequent movement of tributes around the camp. The remains of the campfire were still burning itself out, having been neglected for presumably hours. The collapsed tent had two long slashes through the fabric presumably caused by a sword. All around Harry, on the floor, struck into crates, into sacks of supplies, even buried into the metal of the Cornucopia itself, were arrows.

It was clear to Harry that the occupiers of this camp didn't leave without a fight. And yet there were no signs of blood around the camp, and there had been no cannon that morning; the dying campfire suggested the attack had been a recent event.

Somehow, however impossible it may have appeared from the chaos all around him, it seemed as though the occupiers of the camp had managed to escape without injury.

"Are any of these yours?" Harry asked Hermione when she caught up with him, pointing at the arrows on the ground. He remembered that Hermione had fought the Hufflepuff alliance here four days ago.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes glistening as she viewed the scene around her with disgust. "Possibly a couple of them are, but I barely shot any arrows; I never had many to begin with. Clearly someone else in the arena has taken to using a bow."

"Who do you think did this?"

"I have no idea," Hermione said nervously. "But it was clearly a group effort, by someone other than a Hufflepuff. None of them had a bow."

"I guess we'll never know," Harry shrugged, crouching to pick up a few useful supplies from the wreckage and stuffing them into his backpack. The occupiers of the camp had clearly left in a hurry; they had left plenty of good supplies behind for other to scavenge.

"Harry, you do realise what this means, right?" Hermione said nervously, taking a step towards him.

"What _what_ means?" Harry said irritably, panicking slightly.

"The clue, or whatever it was," Hermione said sadly. "Someone else has beaten us to it."

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day five), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter**

 **Hufflepuff: Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Padma Patil, Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, I welcome (and appreciate) all of your thoughts, ideas, opinions, suggestions and constructive criticism! :)**

 **P.S. As I've had this chapter finished for days already (as explained above), Chapter Twenty is almost complete too, so expect another update sooner rather than later :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: We're past 150 reviews, so special thanks go to Slightly Addicted to HP, Kat, fanficforyou, harrypotterfan24, Arven di Angelo, Joshua the Terminian, DaughterOfTerpsichore, PeridotPi and lunalestrange7 for reviewing! I'm amazed so many people have taken interest in this story - I never imagined it would get much attention...**

 **Sometimes this site ticks me off. After yet more technical difficulties, here's a belated Chapter Twenty, which has me spending a lot more time with my 'free OC', Sophie Roper. Hopefully you all enjoy reading it :)**

 **P.S. I decided what I was going to do with this chapter as I wrote it, and it ended up being far darker than I had originally intended, to the point that I am not sure whether it has crossed the line from a T rating and into M... Still, however you want to rate it, hopefully it'll entertain you :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

The open window creaked on its hinges, the four dirty panes of glass swinging in the wind. Water dripped from a hole in the roof overhead, spattering onto the concrete floor. On a small bedside table sat a pile of tattered books, but not a single word was printed on any of them. Even the spines were completely void of lettering.

Two ravens were circling ominously in the sky overhead. Was it a bad omen? She didn't think so. But then again, she'd never really cared for Divination.

Sophie Roper was leaning out of the window on the top floor of the lighthouse, watching the first few flakes of snow drift down towards the lake, wondering if things could get any worse.

She'd discovered the lighthouse several days before while patrolling the north of the arena with Ernie, but despite her protests to move the Hufflepuff camp north, she had been ignored by all around her. Now that she was on her own, it had been the first destination she'd had in mind. Upon arrival, she'd found the building in far worse condition than she'd expected, but since she didn't know where else to go, she'd made the decision to stay. If nothing else, she had a good defensive position, should another tribute find her.

It had got colder in the day and a half since she had left the alliance, and there had barely been a minute since her departure that she hadn't regretted it. Until she was forced to wander through the woods alone, she had never really realised just how much she had been relying on safety in numbers. That first walk through the woods in the dark had terrified her.

Since arriving at the lighthouse, Sophie had spent most of her time huddled up in the tallest room, wrapped in her thick grey overcoat during the day, the coat and the moth-eaten bedcovers at night. She'd hoped that being without the supplies stockpiled at the Cornucopia, her mentors Peeta and Cecelia might actually start sending her supplies, but the only sponsor gift that she had received so far was a thin red scarf, and while it was useful for her, she had hoped for more. Perhaps, she reasoned, she had left Justin and Ernie in an even worse situation than the one she had ended up in. Or perhaps her mentors were withholding supplies, punishing her for abandoning her allies.

She just didn't know.

Leaning against the window frame, black paint peeling away to reveal rotten wood beneath, Sophie had found herself with plenty of time to reflect on the past few days, and the magnitude of what she had done since arriving in the arena.

How things had changed in the past two weeks.

Six years ago, aged eleven, she'd received her Hogwarts letter. She'd known that she was going to get it, of course; her mother worked at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and her father was a research physicist. Even if they were both Muggles, she'd have been hard-pushed to say that they had much in common, at least in their interests. But like everything else in her life, it somehow worked.

She'd arrived at Hogwarts with no idea what to expect, knowing nobody her own age, sorted into Hufflepuff with her soon-to-be friends on her first day. Oh, how she'd loved it that first year, finally learning all the tremendous things her mother had shown her in her childhood! All the world seem to open up to her, as though learning magic gave her thousands of new futures.

Second year was terrifying, with the Chamber of Secrets being reopened and the threat of the school being closed. Third year was unnerving, with cloaked, hooded Dementors standing vigil at the school gates, and her fourth year was simply thrilling, with the arrival of students from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for the first Triwizard Tournament in over two centuries.

Then everything started to go downhill at the end of the tournament, with the return of You-Know-Who and the death of Cedric Diggory, former Hufflepuff Prefect and Quidditch Captain.

From there, things began to get desperate, and a melancholy mood fell over Hogwarts during Sophie's fifth year, that even her promotion to Seeker as Cedric's replacement couldn't shake off. Then OWLs were over, and suddenly the world seemed like a better place again, the same place she had arrived in five years prior on that first day, sitting on the stool at the front of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall placing the sorting hat on her head...

And now, suddenly, she was gone from that world, tricked and manipulated by Dumbledore into giving herself up for the eventual defeat of You-Know-Who. Not that she'd ever see the benefits of it.

The thing with sacrifice, it seems, is that it's easy to believe you're doing the right thing, but difficult to live with the consequences. And for Sophie, the consequences had been severe. She would never see her parents again. She would never see Hogwarts again. Instead, she was forced into these woods, given a bunch of weapons and told to kill, or be killed.

She'd known from that first day, when the President addressed the group of sixth-years chosen for the Games and told them of their fate, that she would need to use her ruthless side to get through the arena. In the panic and terror of the Games, she had completely given herself over to her darker side, killing indiscriminately during those first few days. Only one could live, and she would make sure it was her. Friend or foe before the arena, suddenly everyone was a target, even during her time in the arena. And now she had three kills, three burdens, to her name; Daphne, Pansy, Susan. _Susan!_ It sickened her, what she had become, the depths she had sunk to in her desperate bid to survive.

Sophie felt a lump form in her throat as images flicked through her mind once more as she remember that night at the Cornucopia, and the terrible things she had done. She looked down at the two objects placed on the window between her hands; the two instruments of her survival. One, her wand (beech and dragon heartstring), a reminder of who she was, a happy, eager Hufflepuff girl, and the world that she had now left behind her for good. Beside it sat the long, curved knife that had saved her several times in the arena already, its razor-sharp edge coated in dried blood; a reminder of the cold-blooded killer the Games had forced her to become.

Everything she used to be and everything she was now, symbolised in two objects that now meant as much to her as her life. All that remained to be decided was all that she would become.

Once, many years before, her father had told her about a man he used to know, who had killed a man attempting to break into his house. Her father's friend had been imprisoned for what he had done, and her father had told a young Sophie about the injustice of it all; a man had broken into the house with a weapon, and fearing for his life, her father's friend had done what he had felt he needed to do to survive, and was being punished for it.

If killing to keep yourself alive was justifiable, surely she was doing the right thing here in the arena? That all the terrible things she had done were acceptable, as she was fighting to keep herself alive. _Right?_

Sophie wasn't sure; she just didn't know.

Leaning against the window frame, her head in her shaking hands, the tears finally fell as the reality of her situation finally hit home.

And she hated it.

* * *

Slowly, like a sleeping animal waking from hibernation, Sophie escaped her grief with a new sense of resolve, hardened by her anger and sorrow. There was a new purposefulness in her stride as she walked through the arena that evening, venturing outside in an attempt to feel positive and on top of things. Sophie didn't really know where she was going, and she didn't think she cared, either. Anything would be better than staying in the lighthouse and burying herself in misery.

The ground was now capped with snow, steadily hardening to ice as the heat drained out of the day. Weak sunlight shone at a slant through the trees from a purple-tinged sky as evening fell. Soon, she would need to light her wand to keep visibility. She walked with her wand in one hand, her knife in the other, ready to react at a moment's notice.

The arena was silent but for the slight crunch as the soles of her shoes passed over ice. The wind was non-existent; a small mercy in the bitterly cold evening. It was hard to imagine that just five days ago she had been travelling through sweltering heat, muggy air and unrelenting sun, craving the shade and a sip of water more than anything else. Just five days ago...

Sophie was broken out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps trudging - no, _running_ \- through the snow nearby. She heard frantic voices, cries for help and the sound of heavy breathing, but could not work out who the voices had come from. Panicked, she spun on the spot, her wand held out in front of her, scouring the forest for any sign of life.

Then she saw them. Three figures darting through the trees, possibly fifty metres to the east of her. One of them was seemingly fleeing, glancing over their shoulder every few seconds. Behind them, two taller figures strode efficiently through the forest, quickly cutting the distance between themselves and their prey. One held a wooden bow, the other a spear. Both were dressed too thickly in coats and scarves for Sophie to identify them.

However, Sophie quickly identified their target as Padma Patil, who was seemingly unarmed as she sprinted away, running straight towards her.

 _Damn._

It was too later for Sophie to try and hide; whether she wanted trouble or not, it had come to find her.

Padma screamed, digging her heels in to stop as she noticed Sophie blocking the way ahead of her, a renewed urgency given to her as she saw the way ahead was blocked. But luckily for her, Sophie only saw one way that this scenario could play out well for her.

"Turn around," she called out to Padma. "This is where we fight. Got a weapon?" Padma shook her head.

"Lost it," she replied breathlessly.

Sighing, Sophie tossed her knife towards the Ravenclaw girl, who fumbled it and it fell into the snow. Shaking her head in frustration, Sophie watched Padma pick up the fallen weapon before turning her attention to their attackers.

Standing their ground, Sophie looked on as the two taller tributes bore down on them, and she soon recognised them as Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Zabini led the pair, determined and emotionless; Nott was looking on gleefully from behind, his stare filled with menace. Sophie had a brief moment of panic, remembering her last confrontation with the tributes of Slytherin, that night when she saved Ernie from Pansy Parkinson, and before that, the battle at the Cornucopia. It seemed to Sophie as though the Gamemakers were trying to have her take down all of the Slytherins on her own.

Once Zabini was within twenty metres or so, the arrows started flying, and Sophie had to duck to avoid having one pierce through her neck. Padma screamed and dived behind the nearest tree, leaving Sophie to fend for herself.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Sophie began, trying to force Zabini's bow from him. Nott's wand was out in an instant, blocking the spell with a well-cast Shield Charm. Rattled, Sophie tried again, but to no success.

"Padma, do something!" Sophie cried as she dived behind a tree to dodge a burst of flames that had erupted from Nott's wand. Zabini hung back, staring vacantly towards Padma's hiding spot, an arrow prepared and ready to fly from his bow.

" _Stupefy!_ " Sophie tried again, leaning out from behind cover to take another shot at her attacker.

" _Protego._ " Nott barely raised his voice to cast the charm with another casual flick of his wand, walking slowly towards Sophie. Now just ten metres away. Things were getting desperate, and Sophie stepped clear of cover once more, aiming not at Nott, but upwards at the trees above his head.

" _Diffindo!_ " she shouted, relieved as a large branch was severed clean from a tree right above not, dropping through the sky towards his head.

Caught off guard, Nott staggered backwards, panicked. " _Reducto!_ " he cried, and the branch exploded in mid-air, showering both himself and Sophie in chunks of debris. Through the chaos, Padma sensed her chance and charged at Nott, knife held tightly in her right hand. Flustered, Nott scrambled backwards, tripping and falling into the snow, but Padma never reached him. She had barely covered half the distance when Zabini's first arrow found her, sinking deep into her stomach. Dropping the knife as she clutched at the wound, Padma fell almost silently into the snow. His second arrow pierced through the top of her skull.

For a moment, Sophie could do nothing but stare slack-jawed at the sight playing out in front of her. At the desperation of her temporary ally, the merciless brutality of the Slytherins, her shock mirrored on Nott's face as he pulled himself back to his feet.

The crack of the cannon brought them all back to their senses, and Sophie realised with a rush of adrenalin that it was now two on one.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Sophie tried again, this time successfully disarming Zabini, leaving him standing weaponless as Nott screamed, " _Expulso!_ " His curse flew past her shoulder, causing a tree behind her to explode, the force of the blast pushing Sophie forward onto her knees in the snow.

Nott laughed; a short, high, dry laugh that sent shivers up Sophie's spine as she struggled to stand. Her shoulders hurt from the force of Nott's last spell, and she was struggling to fight on two fronts at once.

"You don't give up easily, do you?" Nott smirked, cutting off his own laughter. " _Crucio!_ "

Sophie only dodged the curse thanks to her Seeker's reactions, collapsing to the floor before the Unforgivable Curse struck her, a new fury building up within her as she got back to her feet, dodging another Cruciatus Curse before crying out, " _Confringo!_ " The resulting explosion left a ball of fire where Nott had been, the Slytherin flung back fifteen feet into a tree trunk, where he now lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, red burns already showing on his face and hands. The heat from the Blasting Curse had melted away all the snow nearby, leaving only scorched grass beneath it.

Suddenly Sophie felt two hands grab her from behind, trying to wrestle her into submission. Frantically tucking her wand into her pocket to protect it, she tried to fight off her attacker, but her arms were forced up behind her back, pulled and twisted painfully in such a way that she had no hope of escape as she was paraded towards Nott.

"Excellent, Zabini!" Nott gave a hollow laugh, glaring at Sophie, red weals visible on his cheek beneath a thick layer of grime, as Sophie saw him reach into his pocket. "Draco will be pleased."

There was a bang like the crack of a whip and Draco Malfoy Apparated beside Nott, clad in black leather. He stood silent for a moment, his cold grey eyes surveying the scene, his wand held tightly in his right hand. Slowly, he turned to Nott.

"What's the panic, Theo?" he snapped, making Sophie feel terrified. "And what happened to your face?"

Nott didn't reply at first; he just kept glaring at Sophie. When he spoke, his voice was cold and unforgiving.

"Let's just say that this one's been more trouble than she's worth."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, attempting to look unconcerned, but Sophie could tell that Nott's attitude had even unnerved Malfoy, if only a little.

"So?" Malfoy replied, his arms crossed.

" _So,_ " Nott continued, "she needs putting in her place." After a pause, Malfoy nodded knowingly.

Sophie felt all of the colour drain from her face; she could only imagine what was about to happen to her. Kicking frantically at Zabini's shins, she attempted to free herself, but to no avail.

Malfoy walked so that he was standing directly in front of Sophie, probably seven or eight strides away. Panicking, Sophie twisted and struggled against Zabini, but she had no way of freeing herself. If she could calm herself down, she might be able to escape using Apparition, but with Zabini grabbing hold of her, she would be dragging him along for the ride with her...

Taking deep breaths to steady herself, she looked straight ahead into Malfoy's cold eyes, desperate for a sign of weakness, or mercy, or anything that could help her, but before she could attempt to understand him, Nott had interjected.

"No," he had commanded, holding an arm out in front of Malfoy. "Let Zabini do it."

"He doesn't have a wand," Malfoy replied shortly. "And anyway, the curse..."

Nott shrugged. "I think we can afford to relax it for a while," he said. Sophie had no idea what he was on about, and it terrified her. "I doubt he'd want to miss this."

Malfoy said nothing for a long time. "Fine," he spat eventually. "Don't blame me when this turns sour, though."

Suddenly Sophie felt the grip on her relax, and she tried to force Zabini's arms apart and reach down into her trouser pocket for her wand-

"Don't you even think about it," snapped Nott, forcing Sophie's hand away from her pocket with a well-aimed Stinging Hex. He still hadn't stopped glaring at her. Looking up again, Sophie saw both Nott and Malfoy pointing their wands directly at her. "Move one foot and you'll be dead before you know it."

Sophie froze as Zabini stepped away from her and Nott moved round to trap her once again. Despite his thin arms, his grip was tighter and more fierce that Zabini's had been.

"We wondered where you were when we raided the Cornucopia earlier," Nott whispered in her ear. She could almost hear the grin he wore on his face. "Your friends may have given us the slip earlier, but at leave we've got you as a substitute."

"Do it, Draco," Nott then called out to the others, his mouth still by Sophie's ear. "Lift the curse."

Malfoy hesitated again, but eventually he shrugged. "On your head be it," he said, attempting to sound calm, waving his wand towards Zabini. Sophie watched as Zabini, who had been staring off into the forest like he was in a trance, suddenly snapped his head towards Malfoy, like he had been woken suddenly from a long and deep sleep.

 _What the hell is going on?_

"What the-"

"Listen to me," Malfoy snapped, pressing his wand into Zabini's chest. "You're going to do exactly what we tell you, or you're going back under."

 _Oh_ , Sophie realised suddenly, unsure whether that was a good thing or not. _The Imperius Curse._

"Zabini!" Nott hollered from behind Sophie, making her jump. "Recognise this young woman here?" Zabini rounded on Sophie, staring vacantly for a moment before his eyes narrowed in recognition. Nott laughed.

"She killed them, Blaise," Nott said forcefully. "It was all her, back at the Cornucopia. She's the leader. She's the reason Daphne and Millicent are dead." The way that Nott spoke made it clear to Sophie that he didn't give a damn the former members of his house had been killed.

 _And Pansy,_ Sophie thought to herself, and she bit her tongue to resist the urge to make the remark.

"It's her fault," Nott continued. "It's all her fault that they're dead." Sophie noticed Zabini's expression darken. She wondered if he had remembered what she had done, if he had actually seen her finish off Daphne Greengrass in that terrible battle.

Zabini seemed to have forgotten his initial anger and confusion directed at Malfoy, in favour of a new target; Sophie. Nott threw his wand to him, and Zabini caught it.

"You know the spell," Nott said calmly. Sophie thought it was a small mercy she couldn't see his sinister expression. "Don't you want to get your revenge?" Sophie knew it was time to make a break for it, and tried to wriggle free of Nott's grip, but he held on even tighter, pushing her body in front of him, forcing her to stare directly at her captors.

Suddenly the anger flared behind Zabini's eyes, his face contorting as he screamed, " _Crucio!_ "

Sophie flinched instinctively, expecting pain like nothing she had ever experienced, but nothing happened. A few red sparks flew from the end of Nott's wand, but they fell harmlessly in the snow, never making it anywhere close to their target.

"Come on, Zabini!" Nott scoffed, twisting Sophie's neck as she scrabbled at the arm tucked beneath her chin. "Never done that before, have you?" Zabini looked down, unable to meet Nott's gaze and menacing laugh.

For the first time since releasing the curse on Zabini, Malfoy pointed his wand away from him. "Think about everything she's done, the people she's killed. She deserves this, for thinking she could stand up to us! You have to really _mean it. Crucio!_ "

Sophie was caught completely off guard; she hadn't been expecting an attack from Malfoy. The curse struck her chest just above the heart, and then everything was on fire. A million needles driving through her skin at once, something trying to drill through the top of her skull, the tendons in her joints threatening to rip apart, her head wanting to explode from the inside as she screamed herself raw. Oh, the pain, the unavoidable, all-encompassing pain that consumed her thoughts, leaving her praying for it to end, for it to all be over as she begged-

Then it was over. She was on her knees on the floor, gasping to catch her breath, weeping freely as she struggled to find the energy to stand. This was it. All of her energy, her willingness to fight had been sapped from her at once. Shaking like a leaf, she struggled to hold herself together as Nott reached down and dragged her back to her feet again.

She couldn't take that again.

"Come on, Zabini." Nott called out again as Sophie lay limp and exhausted in his clutches. "Say it like you mean it."

Sophie barely even had the energy to hear his incantation, but she definitely felt the reaction as Nott released her instantly, knocked to the floor behind her, spewing profanities. The curse had missed, hitting Nott in the shoulder. Zabini's curse had not been as strong as Malfoy's was, but it was enough to leave Nott cursing on the floor. He shouted abuse at a terrified Zabini as Sophie noticed Malfoy stuck in the middle, not knowing what to do.

And nobody was holding her. This was her chance.

Armed with a sudden burst of adrenalin, Sophie made a burst into the woods, desperate to escape.

"She's getting away!" Nott screamed, truly enraged as Sophie hurdled a Stunning Spell fired by Malfoy. Flashes of green light flew over her shoulder, and she knew that she needed to get out of there.

She didn't care about the risks anymore.

 _Get me back to the lighthouse._

Then, with a sickening lurch, she was back in the bedroom at the top of the lighthouse, collapsing to the floor as soon as she arrived, an exhausted mess.

She just had time to hear the Capitol anthem announce the start of the death recap before she passed out.

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day six), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter**

 **Hufflepuff: Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **As I mentioned earlier, I'm not sure whether this chapter has become too dark for T rating and needs to be pushed into M... Your opinions?**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thanks to happyland3000, keelanmurray, sillymoose13, harrypotter24, AstrisDreams, PeridotPi, Artemis Castellan, Slightly addicted to HP, ProditorMagnus and Joshua the Terminian for reviewing the last chapter! :)**

 **I don't really have too much to say about this chapter, so I'll just say that I hope you all enjoy reading it :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

The snow was still falling when Harry woke up, more gently now than it had been through the night. Over six inches deep, covering everything in a white blanket. If Harry had struggled to tell exactly where he was before the snowfall, he had no hope now; everything looked the same when coated in snow.

All he did know was that he was somewhere within a mile or so of the Cornucopia. He and Hermione hadn't moved far after their fruitless trek to the centre of the arena the previous day. The day had been wasted, really. No supplies gained, no advantage made against the other tributes. And, of course, no progress had been made in deciphering the message. Even that had fallen silent the previous afternoon; it had now been twenty-four hours since he had last heard the voice.

"Do you think that's it for the message?" Harry had asked Hermione at sunset the previous evening, when he had realised they hadn't heard the voice since early in the morning. He was used to it appearing out of nowhere every few hours, and unlike Hermione, he had grown used to its chilling tone. It didn't scare him anymore. All that he felt when he heard the disconnected sentences was an increasing build-up of frustration at not being able to understand them.

"Harry, that can't be all the message has to say," Hermione had replied to him. "It rhymes, remember? We've only had seven messages. As we need something else to rhyme with _clue,_ there's at least one more sentence to come."

After that, Harry hadn't pressed her on the subject any further. He'd done enough thinking about it for one day.

Indeed, the only positive thing that Harry could say had come out of the previous day ( _if_ you could call it a positive, and that was a stretch) was the death of Padma Patil, reducing the pool of surviving tributes down to just nine. Fifteen of them had died in the past week. By that rate, there'd be none of them left in just a few days...

"Harry!" Hermione called, trudging through the snow towards him, tightly wrapped in several layers beneath a thick coat, flakes of snow caught in her wild, wind-swept hair. "Glad to see you're awake." Harry smiled weakly back at her. His face was already feeling flushed, attacked by the biting cold.

"You too," he murmured, shivering involuntarily, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

"Oh, I've had an idea," Hermione said brightly. "Do you remember how, when we were younger, we used to use a flame hidden in a jar to keep warm during cold break-times at school? We'd stand in a corner huddled up around it, you and me and R-" Hermione paused, her eyes moistening, the grief visible on her face.

"Yeah, I remember," Harry said quickly, trying to move past the painful silence.

"Well," Hermione recovered, "I was thinking that the same thing could help us out here, too. If you passed me an empty water bottle or something, I could set the fire in it, and you could tuck it in your backpack to keep yourself warm."

"That's a brilliant idea, Hermione," Harry said earnestly, smiling at her with one hand rested on her shoulder. The last thing he needed to see was Hermione break down again. It hurt too much.

"It's a good thing I pay complete attention in Charms, then, isn't it?" Hermione said with a grin.

"Yeah, it - Hey! I pay attention too!" Harry said, defending himself.

"Only when you've run out of points to make about Quidditch..."

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but knew that Hermione had made a fair point. He'd often used Charms - often a noisy lesson based on improving practical skills - as a way of running through new Quidditch strategies for the Gryffindor team with Ron...

He shut his mouth again without saying anything, unable to think up a comeback, which made Hermione laugh. Actually laugh, which almost seemed impossible after the severity of everything they had been through in the past fortnight.

Then, before he realised what was going on, Hermione had picked up a clump of snow and flung it at his face. Gasping from the cold as he staggered backwards, removing his glasses to wipe the ice from his face, he struggled to resist the temptation to strike back.

Somehow, he managed it.

"Come on," Harry said finally, now with a proper smile on his face, trying to calm down Hermione, who was still giggling. "Let's get moving."

* * *

"So where exactly are we going to, Hermione?" Harry asked her, half an hour later, feeling more invigorated than he had done in days. He had to admit, the fire-in-a-bottle idea of Hermione's seemed to have done more than just keep him warm, but actually brighten the mood, too. Making conversation felt like a far easier task than it had been the previous morning.

"I don't really know," she said quietly, paying more attention to where she placed her feet in the snow. She knew it would be easy to trip on something buried beneath the white blanket, and was taking care not to do herself any harm, her eyes scanning the ground ahead constantly. "I just feel like we haven't explored this area much before."

"I don't know how you can think that," Harry replied between breaths, following Hermione's footsteps for an easy bath through the forest. "Everything looks the same beneath the snow." He paused. "Then again, I don't suppose it matters where we go, does it? We either find someone, or the Gamemakers give us a hand going in the right direction."

"Exactly," Hermione said purposefully. "At least by keeping moving, we're prepared for whatever we meet, rather than just waiting in our tent until someone finds us."

To Harry's surprise, it didn't take them long before they broke out of the forest entirely, fifty metres from the shore of a large lake, its surface frozen over. Harry was confused for a moment until he realised that despite the similarities, this wasn't the lake that held the lighthouse where he'd spent that terrifying evening on the day the voice arrived.

But there was another structure; a small wooden shack, barely a hundred yards away, its roof covered in snow. The wood looked tired, but there was glass in the windows and none of the signs of neglect he had seen at the lighthouse.

Still, the place made him feel uneasy, even this far away.

"Should we take a closer look?" Hermione asked him.

"I don't know," he said slowly, but Hermione was already walking towards the shack, her wand at the ready. Reluctantly, he followed her.

As he approached the building, Harry saw that it was larger than he had originally thought, but not quite big enough to be anything other than one room. The shack was built right at the edge of the lake, and Harry saw that on closer inspection, the building stretched past the edge of the land. Looking through the ice, he could see wooden stilts extending down from beneath the floor of the building, holding it in place.

The front door was thick and sturdy, made from tough oak planks and set on heavy iron hinges, painted black. The metal knocker and handle were completely void of decoration. Everything about the place seemed plain and functional.

Hermione tried the handle, only to find that it didn't budge.

"Locked?" Harry asked, and she nodded, pointing her wand at the door.

" _Alohomora,_ " Hermione whispered, tucking her wand back into her pocket and trying the door again. Still it wouldn't move. Frowning, Hermione moved stealthily around the side of the building and onto the frozen surface of the lake to peek through one of the small square windows. Harry was surprised that the thin ice was able to take her weight.

"Someone's been living in there," Hermione explained to Harry as she returned to the front door. "They might still be, actually. There's a fire on, and all sorts of stuff sprawled across the room. There's a rucksack in there that looks almost identical to ours; I'm certain it's from the Cornucopia."

"So someone's been in there at some point, at least," Harry added.

Hermione nodded. "That explains why the door won't open. There have been charms put on it so that it can't be unlocked with magic."

"You can see that someone's still living here because of the footsteps in the snow," Harry added. "Look, there's tracks leading away into the forest."

"Harry, those are ours."

"Oh, yeah..."

"Which reminds me, I could really do with remembering to get rid of those from now on," Hermione said, more to herself than to Harry.

A brief silence followed, and Harry noticed that it had finally stopped snowing; instead, the weak, wintry sun had reappeared, its slanting gaze making it blinding to look out across the lake.

"So," Harry said, looking at Hermione once again. "Are we going to try and get inside this place? Is it worth it, or are we just going to move on?"

However, before Hermione could reply, Harry heard a deafening crack behind him. Remembering the last time he had heard that sound, he had his wand ready before he could focus on whoever had Apparated behind them, expecting Nott or Malfoy and wanting to be ready for a fight.

Instead, Harry found himself face to face with Michael Corner.

"Oh, w-"

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Harry stood frozen in shock at the unexpected arrival, but Hermione still had enough of her wits about her to disarm the young Ravenclaw, sending the knife in his right hand flying backwards, spinning over and over until it landed handle-first in the snow. Michael began to walk slowly backwards, both hands held up, showing his empty palms to Hermione, who was still pointing her wand at his chest.

"So this is where you've been hiding out, is it?" Harry snapped. Both he and Michael knew their relationship was strained, especially following their argument in the Training Centre. "Not bothered to help out your classmates, have you?" Harry didn't know what made him say it, he just felt a week's worth of stress and anger reaching boiling point within him, and Michael was a decent enough target for his fury. He'd have preferred Malfoy for everything the Slytherin had done, but sometimes Harry just had to take what he'd got.

"I don't need them," Michael replied coolly, a half-smile on his face, not at all bothered that he had two wands pointed straight at him. "I never did, never will. I'm winning this my way."

"Doesn't look like you're doing such a good job of it now, does it?" Harry retorted, taking a couple of steps towards the Ravenclaw.

"I could say the same about you," Michael replied, looking up as his eyes met Harry's for the first time. "Tell me, whatever happened to Weasley?"

Of all the things Michael could have done, Harry hadn't expected that, and the sudden flash of pain and regret that burned through him was enough for Michael to reach into his back pocket, pull out his wand and produce a well-aimed Impediment Jinx that took an equally-stunned Hermione off her feet.

Flushed with anger, Harry's first Stunning Spell missed as Michael scrambled away through the snow towards the forest. His second was blocked by a last-second Shield Charm, and then Michael had reached the trees. Dragging a flustered Hermione back to her feet, Harry led the way as he set off after their attacker.

Thankfully, Harry was faster than Michael, and Hermione didn't need to run; she had her bow. The gap steadily closed as Michael sprinted through the icy forest, roughly in the direction of the Cornucopia. Not that he was likely to reach it; Harry assumed the lake must have been miles from the Cornucopia for him to have missed it until that day.

Hermione, who had seemed much more determined following Michael's cheap remark, soon found luck with her bow, sending an arrow into the back of Michael's right calf, and he was sent sprawling to the floor.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ "Michael called out in desperation through cries of pain as Harry closed the distance to him, but Harry blocked the spell with a flick of his wand. The fury was building through him at Michael's brash attitude and the terrible things he had said, and Harry found himself wanting to cause the young Ravenclaw as much pain and misery as he could. Grabbing Michael by the neck and dragging him to his feet as he prised Michael's wand from his left hand, Harry pushed the boy forcefully backwards towards a nearby tree, blood still spurting eagerly from his recent arrow wound.

What Harry didn't expect was for Michael to dig his heels in, skidding across the snow, and swing a ferocious punch at Harry that once again caught him off-guard. Connecting heavily against his cheekbone, stars burst in front of Harry's eyes as his neck snapped quickly to the right, recoiling from the strike. Cursing, he staggered backwards, dazed, and Michael saw his chance, diving on him and the two collapsed together into the deep snow.

The temperature was almost overwhelming at first as Harry found himself half-buried in the ice, so cold that it seemed to burn his skin wherever he touched it. Scrabbling, clawing and throwing Michael over and over, searching for any way to assert dominance, any way to end the fight, Harry found himself struggling. Michael was a few inches taller than him, and he didn't seem to be showing any signs of weakness despite his injured leg. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione looking on helplessly, not daring to do anything for the fear of making things worse for Harry. He was sure that for Hermione, this was the same as watching Ron's final stand, the duel with Malfoy.

That, more than anything, spurred him on, told him to keep fighting despite the piercing cold screaming at his body, telling it to give up the fight. He wouldn't let Hermione go through that ordeal again.

Yet somehow he still losing, and the two boys finally came to rest with Michael pinning down Harry in the snow, his hands reaching down to Harry's belt to retrieve the steel dagger that Harry had kept there since the start of the Games.

Harry grabbed Michael's wrist with both hands before he could drive the knife into Harry's chest, but even with both hands, it was a struggle to stop the blade from piercing his heart. Breathing heavily with exertion, he struggled to hold on as Michael leant his weight onto the blade and Harry watched its tip sink slowly towards his chest.

He was losing the battle, and he was going to die. A hundred panicked thoughts swam through his brain, but there was nothing that could him.

Then, all of a sudden, the pressure on the dagger vanished, and Michael gasped; a panicked, desperate gasp, as both boys' eyes fell on the bloodied tip of an arrow protruding out of the front of Michael's chest. Stunned, Michael staggered to his feet, his hands grasping the arrow driven through him. Harry looked beyond him to see Hermione standing fifteen metres away, all the colour drained from her face as her bow hung loosely from her hands.

Michael, however, was panicked and frenzied, staggering madly through the snow, hurling his knife at Hermione in a final burst of anger, but it flew harmlessly past her. Losing energy fast as the snow turned red in his wake, Michael crashed into a thin-looking tree nearby and slumped to the floor.

The tree shook heavily, and Harry heard something snap nearby above his head. Then he saw it, the branch crashing to the floor, the white-brown lump hanging from its underside.

With a thump, the branch crashed to the floor, the lump shattering on impact, leaving a rising, buzzing cloud of yellow and black in its place.

A wasp's nest.

Hermione screamed, and Harry cursed as he sprinted at her, desperate to get away from the swarm of angered insects that were already heading towards him. The pair barely hesitated before sprinting off through the woods, the wasps hot on their heels. Harry hoped that at least a few of the insects would be attracted to Michael, but if any were, they left him alone pretty quickly; within half a minute he was dead, his cannon barely audible over the droning buzzing of Harry's swarming pursuers. Whether that was because these wasps were more lethal than he imagined, or just because Michael was almost gone anyway, he didn't know. But it definitely spurred Harry on as he hurtled through the snow, frustratedly running towards the blinding sun.

"Hermione!" he called out above the incessant buzzing behind him. "What can we use to get rid of these?"

"I don't know!" Hermione called back, visibly panicked, screaming as a wasp stung her on the knuckles of her right hand. Harry watched helplessly as the sting swelled to an unnatural size within moments.

Then, before he could do anything about it, there was a piercing pain in his cheek, another burning coming from his left wrist, another on his neck, and all at once he was crying out in pain, cursing as he felt the wasps' venom coursing through his veins, immediately sapping his energy as he continued struggling away from the terrible insects.

They certainly weren't ordinary wasps.

"Hermione!" he choked out, staggering forward with all the energy he could muster. "Do something!"

This time, Hermione seemed to sense that things were getting desperate, and she stopped in her tracks, directing her wand at the swarm and decimating the numbers with a fierce burst of flames, trying to placate the survivors. Harry didn't stop running; he was just desperate to put as much distance between himself and the terrifying swarm as possible.

As Harry kept moving, he became aware that the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and that a low-lying mist had fallen across the arena. Desperately losing energy as his swollen wounds weeped and throbbed, Harry slowed to a stop as his remaining resolve deserted him, leaving him with only a cold, clammy feeling of unease as he walked slowly onwards into the mist.

Then he saw them.

Dementors. Five, seven, ten, a dozen of them gliding towards him through the mist, their distinctive black hooded cloaks, decaying skin on their thin hands and the uneasy rattle of their breaths immediately removing any doubt from Harry's mind as to what he was facing.

Steeling himself, Harry pooled all of his remaining energy together as he stood his ground, directed his wand at the approaching threat and cried:

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Harry felt a burst of relief as his silver stag shot from the end of his wand, charging towards the terrible creatures, but no sooner had it reach the nearest Dementor did Harry see the stag falter and disappear in front of him, leaving the way clear for the Azkaban guards.

Stunned, Harry felt a weight build in his chest as he staggered backwards away from the Dementors, tripping on something hidden beneath the snow and collapsing backwards to the ground. Hermione called out to him, but he was too drowsy to tell what she had said. The overwhelming sense of dread inside him reached new levels as the nearest Dementor closed in on him. Harry could almost make out the terrifying features lurking beneath its hood-

 _"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

 _"Stand aside, you silly girl... Stand aside, now..."_

 _"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"_

Harry felt his body seizing up, shutting itself down, giving up the fight. He no longer cared; what hope did he have? The game was up.

 _"Not Harry! Please... Have mercy... Have mercy..."_

Through the drowsy, chilling haze, Harry faintly heard the screaming voice echo through the sky, as though the words were from the Dementor hovering over him, but before her could make out its message there was a scream and the chilling sound of high-pitched laughter that played over and over in his head until everything faded into black.

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day six), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter**

 **Hufflepuff: Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Ravenclaw: Michael Corner**

 **Slytherin: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: The Lily/Voldemort exchange has been borrowed from page 134 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , in case anybody thought it seemed really familiar. **

**Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please review! As ever, I welcome constructive criticism :)**

 **P.S. I've been having difficulties deciding what I should do with these final few chapters, especially concerning who should win the Games. I've seen several posts in reviews with people commenting on who they would like to see win, and the opinion would be split. I would be favouring the more popular characters as that result would please the most people, but then I run the risk of ending this story with a bunch of clichés...**

 **So basically, while I have a rough plan, I'm setting up a poll on my profile for so that you can all let me know who you want to win and WHY (explain either by PM or review), so that in a couple of chapter's time I can make my decision on who should win the Games.**

 **Note: it won't just be the most popular tribute wins. More than likely, whoever convince me that the tribute they're backing would make the best victor will get it. And I won't be revealing that before the end of the story, in case any of you are wondering ;)**

 **I look forward to hearing what you all have to say :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: This is going to take a while... Thanks to harrypotterfan24, Knifez, Harry Potter 2.0, assassin7998, fictionandfandom, sillymoose13, Autumn, anonymousfangirl, Kureiji-Kurai, Dragonblaze77, Lilly brown, Henry 5, Alex V, bankerjoe13, DaughterOfTerpsichore, Artemis Castellan, fanficforyou, PeridotPi, someone, happyland3000, keelanmurray, Slightly Addicted to HP and oceanfanfiction for reviewing! Really, the support is most definitely appreciated!**

 **Firstly, despite the fact that I posted a review to this story (I presumed it the easiest way of letting everyone know what's been going on with my life lately), it seems that a lot of people are wondering where I've gone, which to be honest is completely understandable. It's been three months since the last update.**

 **So, for anyone who has not yet read my review to this story, here's the short of it:**

 **For those of you who don't know, I started university in September. S** **ince I moved away from home I've barely had any time to myself to write. Uni has been great, but it's full-on, and sadly with everything else that's going on I just don't have the time to guarantee regular updates. Or any updates at all for that matter, during term time. It's too difficult to say, but if I can get something done, I will.**

 **For an author who prides himself on his ability to write quickly and consistently update, it kills me to have taken so long away from writing, and I am genuinely sorry to have left you all hanging with this story three quarters of the way to completion.**

 **So, hopefully that explains what's going on, and I know it sucks, but at least you're all not in the dark anymore.**

 **On the plus side, I'm now writing again, and at long last I can now start posting for this story again, and I hope that it can reach its conclusion in the near future.**

 **Thank you all for your patience and your understanding.**

 **Gamemaker97 :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

It had been a long and stressful day, the ninth in the arena. After two days without any signs of action, Draco had been adamant to Theo that morning that taking a more active approach to the Games would keep them in the Gamemakers' good books on a day where the question of outside intervention seemed to become more of a _when_ and less of an _if_.

Yet they had reached sunset without any signs of, well, _anything._ No cannons, the arena still locked at eight tributes; the three Slytherins, the three Hufflepuffs who had all pulled off their own miraculous escapes in recent days, and of course, Potter and Granger. There had been nothing from the voice in over two days, either. Its last message, a taunting jibe, leaving Draco more and more infuriated by a puzzle he had thought he had the measure of, but had been forced to admit he was just as clueless as everyone else. It was as if the voice was rubbing it in; taunting him for how lost he was.

 _Even I understand, but do you?_

It had been his decision to go charging through the forest that morning, carving a path straight towards the Cornucopia. The secret unravelled at the start, right? Wrong. There had been nothing there, just a pair of hostile Hufflepuffs intent on causing as much trouble as possible before scarpering the moment the going got tough. Draco imagined that there had never been anything there to begin with, that it had been a ruse by the Gamemakers all along. A seemingly suggestive part of the message that he now saw had been intended to have two meanings. One, the immediate one, just to draw some action into the Games. The second? Well, he'd need more of the message for that, and the way things had been going, he might be waiting a while for that.

It seemed to Draco as though, perhaps, the message was almost over, and that its meaning would soon be easy to decipher, perhaps with just a couple more clues. He could imagine the Gamemakers watching them all struggle over this message, holding the key information in their hands, waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger, to set the ball rolling once again. All he needed to do was to make sure he was on top of things once the message started going again.

Theo had criticised him constantly since that afternoon, since Draco's big venture had turned out to be a total failure. Not just open remarks, either (although there had been plenty of them), but also snippets of abuse thrown into otherwise harmless conversations. Conversations that had always flown easily between Draco and Theo, but now for the first time, it was beginning to feel strained.

Silence often joined them on their travels now.

By the time they reached the lake, twilight had fallen across the arena, the clear sky tinged with pink and purple as the last of the sun's rays reflected blindingly off of the lake's icy surface. As the light faded, temperatures plummeted even further beneath zero, and Draco was thankful for his coat and gloves.

The three Slytherins stood together at lakeside, surveying the desolate scene ahead of them. Barely half a mile along the shore was the ruined lighthouse, the only landmark in what might have been the most barren and uninviting landscape Draco had ever set his eyes upon.

Theo walked ahead of Draco down onto the lake's icy surface, surveying the land around them with distaste, muttering under his breath and glaring back towards the forest that they had walked out of. Zabini stood behind him, unmoving and void of emotion, his bow in his hands, an arrow already in place against the bowstring. A silent guard. The same way he had been ever since Draco had placed him under the Imperius Curse.

More and more, that seemingly necessary act had been troubling Draco. Not that he had anything against the use of Unforgivable Curses, or even the Imperius Curse. He knew had been far more liberal with Unforgivables than almost anyone in the arena, and he was fine with that.

The problem was that it was _Zabini_. Someone he could have called a friend, back at Hogwarts.

Here in the arena, he still wasn't sure where he stood on the idea of friendship. After all, there could only be one winner. That was why he had stayed away from everyone but Theo when the Games began, why Zabini had been right to confront him after Draco abandoned his house at the Cornucopia bloodbath on the first day. Zabini had left him with no choice. He couldn't have turned so easily against him, not then, but he knew that letting Zabini escape would have harmed him in the long run. The Imperius Curse was the only way.

It was what Draco had to do, and he hated himself for it.

It had been three days since the incident with Sophie Roper where Draco had given Zabini a rare hour of freedom, and ever since he had regretted putting his fellow Slytherin back under the curse. But the whole thing had been such a fiasco, their prey making a hasty escape, and Theo had been so furious that Draco had used the curse just to shut him up, to get Theo off of his back.

That was the first time when Draco felt like things were beginning to change in the arena. From then on, he'd barely seen a smile from Theo, never mind a laugh. The easy friendship from the first few days had evaporated into a tense alliance, with the strings tying them together getting more and more taut by the minute.

Sooner or later, something was going to snap.

Sitting down in the snow, Draco looked down the banks towards the lake at Theo, who was still pacing on the ice, and back up the slope towards Zabini, still unmoving. To Draco, it felt like the two only seemed to coexist through him, and now Draco wasn't sure he wanted to be around either of them at all.

It was amazing to him how fast everything went downhill, as though their alliance, and his attachment to the people who he had once called his friends, was sliding down a slippery slope that only got steeper with every death.

Now there were only eight tributes left alive in the arena, and three was beginning to feel like a crowd.

The sun had now slipped below the horizon, the darkness creeping over the lake in the deepening gloom as the Capitol anthem played over the arena.

"No faces in the sky again," Theo muttered angrily, glaring back up towards the lakeside and Draco. "I'd have thought that we'd actually have been able to do something with the day other than wander around aimlessly, but I guess I was mistaken." The way he held his wand threateningly in his hand made Draco seem even more aware of the growing divide between him and his allies. Where there had once been nothing bad to say, there were now only cutting remarks and veiled threats. Whether or not Theo would actually go through with them, Draco didn't know, but he expected that Theo wasn't messing around.

A week and a half in the arena had taken its toll on all of the Slytherins, something that Draco was becoming more and more aware of with every day of torment, every stressful day wondering where and when the next life-threatening situation would throw itself in his path. The things he had seen, the horrors and the bloodshed that had tormented him just as his life had for the past year as a Death Eater had left him scared and exhausted, but he knew that he had to keep on the path he had set for himself. He knew what the sponsors wanted to see. He knew that he had to do whatever it would take for him to escape the arena alive.

As with the terrifying experience of his year's service to the Dark Lord, Draco knew that he had to do what was expected of him. He had taken his allies' safety and protection to be his number one priority. He was the one who had made all the plans. He was the one who had made sure that they had done enough to get continued sponsor support throughout the Games. He was the one who had made sure that they would all survive through day after gruelling day.

The arena had forced Draco to act, to keep moving and somehow persevere, if nothing else but to keep his mind busy to keep the terror at bay. But he could now see that Theo had been corrupted by the arena in a very different way. Draco could still remember back to the early days at Hogwarts, back in the first couple of years when he and Theo were easing into the roles their parents had expected them to take, when he and Theo would say terrible, terrible things about pureblood superiority and the shame he had to endure sharing a classroom with half-bloods and Mudbloods. By fourth year, they were telling each other of the depths they would sink to get one over the Mudbloods, the measures they would take to ensure pureblood dominance within the wizarding world.

A year and a half later, and Draco was a Death Eater, actually putting into practice everything that he had insisted he would do, and worse. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable and scared, faced with the terrible things he was made to do even just to get a place in the Dark Lord's inner circle. It was all just words at school, and actually being a part of it all, attacking and torturing Muggles and Mudbloods no longer seemed like the glamorous life his father had made it out to be. Oh, he still hated them, those pretenders to the pureblood throne, those blemishes on the perfect record of the true wizarding families. He wanted them gone, he wanted them beneath him and those like him. But he didn't know if he had it in him to be so merciless when the stakes were so high. And here in the arena, torturing and murdering his _classmates_ , for goodness' sake, was starting to wear him down.

Theo, however, seemed to relish every skirmish, love every chance he could get to show that he meant business. Several days later and still recalled his real _moment of glory_ , finally ridding the world of Weasley, almost every hour. The way his eyes lit up when they caught another tribute, the way he wanted to see them writhe on the floor after being hit with the Cruciatus curse. The way he wanted to hear their screams before putting them out of their misery.

And what he had done the other day, when they had caught the Hufflepuff girl Roper, forcing Zabini to torture her against his will... It was just sick. In the end, Draco had taken over to save Zabini the horror of it. Draco was sick of it by then, but he knew what was expected of him. And partly, he just wanted to deny Theo the pleasure of breaking Zabini.

It was as though Theo had really meant every word of the awful things that had been said late at night in the Slytherin common room, and that he wasn't afraid to go through with them. The way he acted and the expression in his eyes in the darkest moments of the Games reminded Draco of Aunt Bellatrix, and he'd never imagined that he'd meet another individual as cruel and sadistic as her, save the Dark Lord himself.

Theo's father had been sent to Azkaban with Draco's after the raid on the Department of Mysteries. If only the Dark Lord had chosen to punish the Nott family rather than his own... Theo would have been ten times the Death Eater that Draco ever was.

"For goodness' sake, Draco, are you even listening to me?" Theo snapped at him, shaking Draco from his thoughts as Theo stomped towards him, visibly agitated.

"Let's pretend that I was," Draco replied dismissively, not in the mood to hear any more of Theo's complaints.

"So what's the plan then?" Theo demanded, hands on his hips.

Draco looked up at Theo with a stoic look, staring straight into Theo's eyes and said, "I think we should remove the Imperius curse from Zabini."

Theo laughed. "What are you on about, Malfoy? The only reason we did before was because we needed him when we captured Roper."

"We didn't need him," Draco replied, standing up so that he was face to face with Theo, his hand reaching to his pocket for his wand. He'd had enough of Theo's ways, and was almost looking for a confrontation. "You just wanted to break him."

Theo shrugged. "He's broken already. When the time comes and we don't need him anymore, do you really think we'll just let him wander off and go on his own way? Of course not. We'll slit his throat and be done with him. Saves us the hassle of having to hunt him down again."

Draco glanced up the slope at Zabini, who still stood guarding them attentively, his bow ready to strike. "We both know we're not beyond doing that, but this is different, Theo! It's _Zabini_. He's one of us, and we're talking about how we're going to be rid of him. Who knows, his mind could be useful to us. He might have better plans than us. Help us solve that damned message."

"I don't give a damn who he was before the Games," Theo glared at Draco, gripping his wand tightly. "The only person I care about in here is myself. He tried to attack us. You should want him dead, too!"

Draco looked down for a moment, resting a hand to his forehead, and took a deep breath. "He will have to die for us to win, but this isn't how. He deserves a chance to defend himself."

Theo reached up towards Draco and slapped him across the face, making Draco stagger backwards in the snow, a red mark burning onto his cheek. When Draco looked back at Theo, he saw his eyes shining brighter and more dangerously than ever before.

"What's gotten into you, Malfoy?" Theo said viciously. "Where's the noble Death Eater, the win-at-all-costs man I thought I was teaming up with? Look at yourself, for crying out loud! You're sounding like a Hufflepuff the way you're asking us to _give him a bloody chance_ , as though this isn't a life or death situation! He deserves to die, end of story!"

"This isn't so simple, _Nott_ ," Draco sneered, not ignoring the slight on his name. "Give him a chance! He's one of us!"

"He's not, he was against us from the start," Theo countered, holding up his wand towards Draco, almost catching him off his guard. "And I'm starting to wonder whether you and I are on the same page, Draco." For the first time, there was a tremor of doubt in Theo's voice, and Draco knew he needed to capitalise on it.

"You're right," Draco said, his hand firmly on his wand in his back pocket, his face still showing no sign of fear despite the wand pointed directly at him. "I don't think we're on the same page any more. You've done nothing for me, Nott. You've just clung to my side for protection, haven't you, while I've done all the real work, jumping onto the bandwagon in an attempt to satisfy your own insatiable bloodlust!" Draco knew that he was pushing his look, but he was so riled up that he didn't care. If Theo wanted a fight, he'd get one. "So you're right, Nott. We're not on the same page anymore."

And Draco removed the Imperius curse from Zabini.

"What the hell have you two been thinking!" Zabini cried down the slope at his two former captors, forcing both Draco and Theo to turn their heads in his direction. There was panic in Zabini's voice, fear visible in his eyes and he staggered backwards away from them. "I was one of you!" Zabini was glancing around frantically, looking for an escape route. "We used to be friends..."

And then, all to soon, there was the tell-tale crack as Zabini Disapparated. The crack which brought Draco and Theo's attention back to each other.

" _You!_ " Theo cried, holding his wand threateningly, just a couple of feet from Draco's eyes. "How could y-"

Theo never finished his sentence because Draco's Stunning spell had already hit him, sending him flying backwards onto the cold, hard ice covering the lake. Cursing profusely as he staggered back to his feet, he fired a poorly aimed Cruciatus curse at Draco that saw the young Death Eater see red.

"You dare, after everything, turn that curse against me!" Draco cried, furious at the depths to which Theo would sink, just how much the arena had corrupted someone Draco had once called a friend. Clearly those days were now far in the past. Shouting across the increasing wind as night finally fell, Draco cried, "Then again, I guess I've seen the worst of you these last few days, haven't I, Nott? _Crucio!_ "

And this time, Draco's curse found its mark, leaving his former friend and ally a quivering mess on the ice, his screams filling the silence left in the void where the arena's most dominant alliance had once been.

But looking down at Theo, broken and defeated on the ground, his wand flung away from him into the snow, Draco found himself pausing, finding reasons not to go in for the kill. He could hear Theo coughing and whimpering at his feet, and for now, that was enough. Like with Zabini, the time would come for him and Theo to trade blows for real. The time would come for their final showdown, on even ground, where Draco would finally show his sadistic former ally who the better man truly was.

Replacing his wand in his pocket, Draco drew his sword, standing above Theo so that the tip of his blade was just a few inches from Theo's nose. Draco could see Theo's breath leaving condensation on the cold metal, his eyes staring along the sword's length and up towards his conqueror, trembling from fear and from the cold.

"You will remember this, Theo," Draco said, trying to keep his voice even and intimidating, despite how enraged he felt. Despite all the conflicting emotions that had been running through him all week as he watched one of his closest friends turn into such a monster. "You will remember that I didn't finish you here. One chance. That's all you're getting, and don't think it's because you mean a thing to me. You're nothing to me now, Theo. As you said earlier yourself, the only person I care about in this arena is myself. Think about Zabini, and I think you'll understand why I'm not ending your existence here and now. Perhaps one day soon we'll meet again, and have the fight everyone is expecting from us. Perhaps we won't ever see each other again. But there are no more chances for you now."

Draco laughed softly, stepping away from Theo slowly, his sword still drawn and pointed directly at his defeated former ally.

"Play nicely now, Theo," Draco chuckled, turning away from the defeated boy for the last time.

And then he Disapparated.

* * *

 **As of the most recent death recap (the end of day nine), the tributes alive are:**

 **Gryffindor: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter**

 **Hufflepuff: Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie MacMillan**

 **Slytherin: Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini**

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed reading this chapter, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)**

 **P.S. I'm going to leave up the poll on my profile asking which tribute should win the Games until Chapter 23 is posted, so if you haven't had your say and want to, feel free to visit my profile and leave your opinion on the Games :)**


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